


A Sky Full of Roses

by OrchidQueen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fairy Yuri Plisetsky, Falling In Love, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, VictUuri, mild angst kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-06-09 04:37:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 57,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15259608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrchidQueen/pseuds/OrchidQueen
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki has never been very good at magic. A humble man from a small village, his real talent has always been in dancing--a passion so strong that he joined the nearest dance troupe as soon as he came of age. With his career on the rise and his reputation strengthening, it seems as though Yuuri's future is shaping itself.But one fateful spring day, everything changes.When Victor the mighty god of the forest saves his life, tethers Yuuri's soul to his own, and offers to teach him magic all in the same day, how can Yuuri refuse?





	1. Fire Dance

“Yuuri, amazing performance, as usual!”

Yuuri looked up from where he sat on the floor of his bedroom packing his bags, and smiled at the familiar voice. “It could have been better. The end was sloppy. _Your_ set was flawless.”

Phichit, Yuuri’s best friend and fellow dance troupe member, just snorted, leaning against Yuuri’s bedroom door frame. His dark hair and the bare skin of his chest glistened with sweat from the practice session the two of them had finished only minutes before. “You don’t see anyone trying to break down _my_ door over it, though,” he said, raising an amused eyebrow at Yuuri’s door, which had been splintered and removed at the hinges and was now leaning against the opposite wall.

“Oh, that.” Yuuri laughed, scratching the back of his head. “Honestly, I don’t know how that happened.”

“Sure you don’t.” Phichit plopped himself down on Yuuri’s bed. “I can’t believe you’re packing already. We’re not set to leave until tomorrow.”

“I know,” Yuuri said, holding up two pairs of slippers and looking at each of them in turn. “I’m just excited. It’s not every day we get to perform for _royalty_.” Placing the blue pair into his bag, Yuuri threw the others to the side and looked up at Phichit. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Of course I’m excited.” Phichit picked up one of Yuuri’s numerous pillows and turned it over in his hands. “I can hardly believe it’s happening, to be honest.” The man grinned. “Did you ever think we would get this far?”

Yuuri shook his head, latching his bags shut tight. “If I could go back and tell eight year old Yuuri that by the time he was twenty three he would be dancing, by personal request, for the King of Seren? I would never have believed me.”

Phichit made a noise of agreement, and threw the pillow in Yuuri’s direction. “Younger Phichit might have punched you and taken some of your fancy pillows to trade for food.”

Yuuri dodged the pillow as an image of a younger Phichit flashed through his mind; a scrawny street kid, shivering and lice-ridden and starving before Yuuri’s family had taken him in almost fourteen years ago. Yuuris’ mother had taught Phichit how to cook and clean and take care of himself, and Yuuri had gained a best friend and brother.

Both boys knew Yuuri’s parents were disappointed that neither of them wanted to run the inn when they were older. And both knew that that disappointment was nearly doubled when they had instead joined the troupe, had become two of the most sought after dancers on this side of the continent.

And now, it seemed, their fame was spreading.

“We’re here now,” Phichit said, tossing another pillow at Yuuri. “That’s all that matters, right?”

Yuuri caught the pillow. “Right,” he said.

* * *

 

“He _is_ real,” Yuuri insisted, speaking around a mouthful of bread. “I saw him.”

Phichit made a face and drained the rest of his ale. “You saw the forest god, and he didn’t kill you?” The man’s tone was skeptical. “There’s no way in hell.”

The two of them had been in Seren for no more than two days, but Yuuri was already starting to miss home. The food here was too rich, and the magic-imbued wine the kingdom was famous for was not sitting well in his stomach. The novelty of the trip had almost worn off, too, considering they hadn’t even _seen_ the king let alone met him. They had spent most of their time exploring the great capitol city of Sol, sightseeing and window shopping and getting drunk at the multitude of taverns scattered throughout the city, one of which they sat in now, eating complimentary bread and arguing.

Yuuri shrugged. “Believe whatever you want, but I saw him.”

“Yuuri, you were lost in the forest for days. It was probably just a hallucination.”

“He wasn’t, though.” Yuuri argued, setting down the bread. He was beginning to regret ever telling Phichit this story in the first place. “He fed me and bathed me and sent me home.”

Phichit snorted. “A handsome god specifically known for his cruelty finds you in the forest, _bathes_ you, and sets you free without a mark?” The man’s eyes sparkled, no doubt the work of Seren’s wine. “Sounds like a fantasy to me. A good one, mind you.”

At Phichit’s suggestive wink, Yuuri picked up his bread and threw it at his friend. “Gods above, Phichit, I was _six_.”

“If you were six, you definitely dreamed it.” Phichit leaned back in his chair and looked over the city. “Nobody would be able to remember that far back.”

Yuuri followed Phichit’s gaze and frowned. This particular tavern rested on the top of a hill, and offered the two men an unobstructed view of the whole city sprawled out before them, and the forest beyond. Maybe he was right. Maybe Yuuri had just been having some sort of fever dream and imagined a tall handsome stranger taking care of him. He had been lost, after all. And he had been young.

Yuuri picked up his own mug of ale and downed the contents. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed.

Phichit perked up, and Yuuri looked to the streets once again. “It’s the king,” Phichit said, pointing to the procession in the distance. A group of nobles astride white horses and, in the center, a bearded man. Magic seemed to emanate from him; even from this great distance Yuuri could feel it, shining from the man as if he had stolen all the stars from the sky and now held them hostage somewhere within his body.

Phichit whistled as the King’s men rode by. “ _He_ requested _us_.” He looked to Yuuri, all thought of their argument forgotten. “Can you believe that?”

The echo of the man’s power still buzzed through the air, like the pull of static before a flash of lightning. Yuuri shivered. “Not at all,” he said.

............

Yuuri stared at himself in the full length mirror of his borrowed bedroom, playing with the decorative buttons adorning the sleeves of his costume.

The fabric was sheer—and expensive—a sunset orange that Phichit promised would make him “outshine the whole room,” whatever that meant. Yuuri let his arms fall to his sides, turned around to admire the back of the costume, lifted his arms high above his head to appreciate the way the thin material draped over his body.

“I look like a pumpkin,” he said.

Phichit laughed from where he was buttoning up his own shirt on the opposite side of the room. “You look amazing,” he promised.

Yuuri sighed and turned away from his reflection, too nervous to really care what he looked like anyway.

He and Phichit had been part of this troupe for almost ten years—five years of training and five more actually performing—but never before had Yuuri felt quite so apprehensive. It wasn’t just that they were performing in the capital city for the king, although that was enough to turn Yuuri’s insides to mush. It was the memory of that power, that magic surging through the air when the King passed on the street that had Yuuri shaking in his slippers.

Yuuri had never really trusted magic. Something about some men being allowed to be more powerful than others simply because of the way they were born didn’t feel right, didn’t feel _fair_. Of course, Yuuri might have only felt that way because he barely possessed any magic of his own. As for the small amount he _did_ have, he used it mainly to correct his eyesight during the day so he didn’t have to bother with glasses.

“What if he hates it and turns me into a frog or something?”

Phichit turned to Yuuri, eyebrows raised. “He won’t hate it. And if he does—” the man came over and clapped a comforting hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “—I’ll make sure to provide you with the heartiest flies I can find.”

............

Yuuri peeked around the door of the throne room as the cheers for Phichit’s performance died down, and Yuuri was announced. 

Sweating and flushed but glowing, Phichit came through the door and gave Yuuri an encouraging smile. “They’re an easy crowd,” he whispered. “But the king is… intense. Don’t look him in the eyes for too long, if you know what I mean.”

Phichit winked and shoved Yuuri forward into the room. Yuuri swallowed his nerves as all eyes turned to him, reflecting that he did not, indeed, know what Phichit meant.

Then he met the king’s eyes, and it was like he was rooted to the floor.

The king had been on the throne for almost fifty years, but he did not look a day past thirty—strong magic at work, Yuuri assumed. His hair was thick and black and curly, with only a small amount of grey peppered throughout his beard. His eyes were black as night, but they might have been made of ice for the way they froze Yuuri in place.

The older man held Yuuri’s gaze for a long moment before breaking the contact and sizing up the rest of his body, and suddenly Yuuri could move again.

Taking his place in the center of the room, Yuuri wondered if the man had used magic on him just now, or if his nerves really _were_ getting the best of him. He decided it would probably be best to avoid looking in the king’s direction at all, just in case.

Yuuri lifted his arms to the bright, clear sound of the flute, the first beat of the drum, and then he began to move.

A hush descended upon the room, punctuated by the slow, sensuous melody of the flute mingling with the single drum.

Yuuri closed his eyes, letting the music flow through him as the drums sped up fractionally, and a violin began to play, slowly, then with increasing speed until Yuuri’s feet were practically flying off the floor.

Then Yuuri made the mistake of opening his eyes.

He met the king’s stare, and heat shot through his body, down through to his bones.

Everything around them seemed to freeze—the obsidian of the king’s eyes became Yuuri’s only tether to the earth, the single point of anchorage of Yuuri’s body to this mortal plane—then time snapped back into place, and Yuuri was still moving.

But the drums were too loud, the beat too thick, and the king was still staring at him. With every step of his bare feet on the cold stone floor Yuuri’s skin grew warmer and warmer until he thought he might collapse from the heat. The air around him buzzed and crackled while the drums sped up, and Yuuri’s body followed the sound, caught up in the beat and the music and the heat of the magic surrounding him because that’s what this was, what this had to be. The king’s magic shooting through him, sending lightning through his veins, threatening to burn him up from the inside.

But Yuuri forced himself to breathe even as his vision lost focus; forced his body to move, to listen to _his_ will rather than that of the magic that was pulling him through the music like a puppet.

Yuuri was no puppet, and he wouldn’t let himself fall.

The music ended suddenly, abruptly, and Yuuri let out a gasp of air as the king’s eyes left his and the room melted into applause.

Yuuri’s legs shook, and he put his hands on his knees, bending over slightly to catch his breath. It was all he could do to remain upright.

What was that? What had the king done to him?

The king stood, and Yuuri fell to his knees.

Head bowed, hands balled into fists, he stared at the floor. His body was on fire, and he was going to burn. He was going to burn and burn and burn—

The king stepped down from the dais and knelt in front of Yuuri, took hold of his chin and forced him to look up, back into those coal-black eyes.

“My chambers. Midnight,” the king said, and then he was gone.

............

“I’m so jealous, Yuuri!” Phichit whined, pouting like a small child might pout over missing desert. “It isn’t fair!”

Yuuri said nothing, just stared into his wine and let his vision blur. He hadn’t taken a single bite of the dinner that had been placed in front of him even though it looked delicious. His stomach had been in knots since his performance.

His friend nudged his foot under the table. “You’re so lucky.”

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” Yuuri said, making a decision and drinking his entire glass of wine in one pull, then taking the rest of Phichit’s and doing the same.

Sure, the king was handsome, and this would be a great opportunity for Yuuri to further his career, but…

He turned to Phichit, who was giving him an envious look. “When he looked at you, did you feel…” Yuuri searched for the right word. “Weird?”

Phichit grinned. “I felt something, alright.”

“Phichit, I’m serious.” Yuuri held up his glass for a passing servant to refill. “I think— I think he used magic on me.”

The man’s grin just widened. “Is that what you call it?”

Yuuri sighed. It was nearly impossible to have a real conversation with Phichit when he had had this much to drink.

Pushing his chair back, Yuuri stood. “I’m going to go get some fresh air.”

“Hold on, I’ll come with you.” Phichit almost knocked his chair and all of his dishes over in his scramble to stand, and Yuuri might have laughed if his mind had not been so preoccupied.

After asking a passing servant the fastest way to exit the castle, the two of them left through a side door that led to what Yuuri assumed were the gardens, but it was hard to tell in the dark. Phichit wondered away in the direction of a short stone wall near the edge of the forest, and Yuuri slumped back against the castle.

The cool night air felt wonderfully welcome against Yuuri’s flushed skin, and he let out a soft sigh. Maybe it had been his nerves after all. Maybe the king was actually nice. Maybe he would be good to him…

Unexpected, an image of another man popped into Yuuri’s head. The flash of a kind smile. Pale blue eyes, and silver hair. The smell of roses—

“Yuuuuri, look!”

Yuuri turned his head to find Phichit on the other side of the wall, apparently having climbed over, flailing his arms around and grinning like a fool. Then he turned, and ran off into the forest.

“Phichit, no! Wait!” Yuuri cursed, running to the wall and hoisting himself over. “It’s dangerous in there!” Yuuri yelled to his friend, landing on the ground at the other side.

“I’m not afraid,” Phichit taunted, turning to skip backwards. “Your forest god will save me, right?”

Yuuri followed Phichit’s laughter to the edge of the tree line, then he stopped.

The last time he had entered the forest it had been on a dare seventeen years ago. A stupid dare from one of the children staying at his parent’s inn that Yuuri went along with simply because he did not want to be marked as a wimp.

Yuuri took a deep breath—Phichit was too far ahead for doubts—and entered the forest.

Following the trail Phichit had crashed through the undergrowth, Yuuri’s skin buzzed with recognition. Even though it had nearly been a lifetime, even though he wasn’t even supposed to be able to remember, even though this was a different part of the forest entirely, Yuuri could feel it. A sensation in his skin and in his chest and in his bones: the feeling of a flower opening its petals to the sun; the way the wind revels after it’s pushed the storm clouds away. Almost like the forest remembered him.

Almost like he was coming home.

He called out Phichit’s name again, but this time there was no answer, and Yuuri sped up. It was ridiculous, he knew, to be feeling this way, especially when his friend was so far ahead.

All at once, the night birds stopped singing. Yuuri heard a scream and a heavy _thud_ , and then silence that was thicker than molasses settled on the trees.

Blindly, almost as if he were in a dream, Yuuri made his way toward the last place there was sound, the direction from which Phichit’s scream had come, and stifled a sob when he reached his friend’s body.

Phichit lay on the ground, still and covered in blood.

Yuuri covered his mouth and bent down, feeling for a pulse, heaving a breath of relief when he found one. Phichit was alive, for now.

A twig snapped, and Yuuri stiffened.

Something rustled in the bushes and he turned slowly, breath shallow.

With a snarl, a creature jumped out of the bush—something like the forest cats Yuuri had near his home, but smaller. Not that size mattered too much when you were about to die.

The creature tore into his leg with teeth the size of daggers. Yuuri’s scream fell dull in the otherwise silent forest, but he managed to kick the creature off of him and scoot closer to Phichit. If he was going to die, he didn’t want to go alone.

The creature snarled and leaped, and Yuuri braced himself for the end.

Instead, a different blurred figure knocked the creature out of the way, and Yuuri refocused his eyes to see… a poodle? Jaws locked on the creature’s neck, dragging it away deep into the trees.

Moving was a struggle, but somehow Yuuri was able to pull himself into a seated position and assess the damage. He let out a pained whimper when he saw the chunk of skin missing from his left leg, but he was otherwise unharmed.

Phichit was a different story.

Blood pooled around him, and his breathing was dangerously shallow. Yuuri wiped away tears as he draped himself over his friend, begging any god that could hear for help.

“Please!” Yuuri sobbed. “Please help.”

But the forest remained silent.

Yuuri’s leg was beginning to throb with the adrenaline leaving his system, but he ignored it, and focused every ounce of his meager amount of magic on healing his friend, his brother.

It was hopeless, though. Yuuri just wasn’t strong enough.

He was losing blood, too. His head felt light; his vision swam. Slipping fully to the ground, Yuuri struggled now to even stay awake.

And that’s why Yuuri thought he might be hallucinating when a figure stepped out from the dense darkness, leaned on a tree trunk and crossed his long legs, pushed his silver hair away from his startlingly blue eyes, and cocked his head to the side.

The forest god smiled. “You called?”


	2. The Way Home

The forest god wasn’t like Yuuri remembered; he was _better_.

Tall, powerful, and indescribably beautiful. Like something from a dream; a glimpse of heaven.

Yuuri blinked up at him, more than mesmerized. Enchanted; enraptured. At his face, the sharp angle of his jaw as he smiled. His hands, long fingers clothed in gloves as black as a moonless night. His body, flawless in a way that couldn’t be real, like some sort of celestial artist had spent a million years sculpting him out of pure magic. His eyes, blue like the morning sky, like the first drop of rain in early spring, radiant and shining, and looking mildly concerned…

All at once the pain came back to him, and Yuuri cried out. “Phichit!” he said, turning toward his friend, whose prone body still lay on the ground where he had fallen. “Please, help him.”

The forest god knelt next to Yuuri, reaching over him to get to Phichit. Filling the space with the scent of roses and something else, something Yuuri couldn’t quite place. And suddenly Yuuri was no longer afraid, _couldn’t_ be afraid. Because the forest god was here, and he was going to fix it. Just like when he was young. Everything was going to be okay.

Then he straightened. “Your friend is dying.”

The good feelings shattered as the man stood, leaving Yuuri cold and gasping for breath. “But you can help him,” Yuuri insisted. Of course he could help. He was a god, wasn’t he?

But the beautiful man, the source of immense power in front of him was shaking his head. “That isn’t how it works. He is meant to die, and therefore he will.”

But Yuuri was shaking his head, too. He turned to face his friend, to put both hands on his wound as if he could stop the bleeding by sheer force of will. “No, that’s not possible,” he said through clenched teeth and tears. “You have to help him.”

“I can’t.” The God’s voice was low, somber. “A life will be taken today, as it was meant to be.”

“Please!” Yuuri sobbed. “There has to be something—there has to be something you can do!”

The forest god was silent for so long Yuuri thought he might have left, vanished like the hallucination he probably was. But then he spoke, and his voice was like a sigh of wind through a canopy of leaves. “There is another way,” he said.

Yuuri met the god’s eyes, and they were troubled. “What is it?” Yuuri said. “I’ll do anything.”

“A life for a life,” the god said. “Would you trade yours for his?”

Yuuri looked at Phichit. His best friend. His brother. “I die and he lives?”

The forest god nodded.

“Do it,” Yuuri said. He didn’t even have to think about it. There was no way, no scenario in which Yuuri could ever live with himself if he let Phichit die. It was his fault he was in this forest anyway, his fault that Phichit had come to Sol in the first place.

The forest god held Yuuri’s gaze, and the look in his eyes was something like pain. And for a wild, reeling moment, Yuuri wondered if he had made the wrong choice.

Then the forest god took a deep breath and lifted his arms, and the world exploded into color and fractured light.

This magic was nothing like the king’s. Where his had been sharp and brutal and too warm, the magic pouring from the god in front of him was a cool, soft thing—a layer of night that cascaded around them like a waterfall of multicolored stardust.

Yuuri forgot to feel his own pain as he watched that stardust fall upon Phichit, where it seemed to collect in the opening of the wound in his chest, glowing slightly before it was absorbed into his body.

Phichit coughed, and sat up. “Y-Yuuri?” he said, looking from Yuuri to the god of the forest, eyes wide with disbelief.

Yuuri was allowed one moment of relief, one moment to smile at his friend’s health before the pain came back tenfold, this time in his shoulder and in his chest and in his soul. It ripped through him, burned like wildfire from the inside out. Vaguely, he could feel himself screaming, could hear Phichit yelling, but it seemed so very far away.

“Don’t worry.” The voice of the forest god. “He won’t be in pain much longer.”

Yuuri felt himself being lifted off the ground, surrounded by that same sweet perfume of roses and… and starlight. That’s what it was. That second smell he could not recognize earlier. Yuuri had never been more sure of anything in his life.

Yuuri opened his eyes through the pain to find the blue of the forest god’s staring back, close enough that Yuuri could see them clearly. They looked sad.

Yuuri did not want this beautiful creature to be sad.

Struggling to stay awake, even knowing he was going to die, Yuuri forced himself to smile. “You smell like starlight,” he said in a voice so weak it was practically silent, reaching up with the last of his strength to touch a strand of that silver hair.

The last thing Yuuri registered before his life went blank was the forest god’s face, blinking down at him in pure, complete shock.

And then, nothing.

 

……………………

 

Broken movement.

A blurred surge of stars.

The feeling of being cradled in the night sky.

Roses, and a spring wind.

If this was death, Yuuri thought, perhaps it wasn’t so bad.

A voice cut through Yuuri’s darkness, surprised and angry.

“Victor, what is that?”

“None of your concern, Yuri. Go back home.”

Yuuri had a moment to wonder at the voice, at the person with the same name as him before the pain in his chest was replaced with ice, and he was falling, falling, falling—

Yuuri awoke to moonlight, and something cold and wet on his face.

Cautious, he sat up to come eye to eye with a large brown poodle—the same one from earlier, he realized—tongue lolling, tail wagging.

“Thank you for saving me,” Yuuri said to the dog, who barked and licked his face one more time before leaping off the bed and bounding out the open door of this borrowed room. Yuuri took a moment to survey his surroundings; the lumpy mattress on which he lay, stone walls so full of gaps and holes that moonlight streamed through them, bathing the room in a soft silver glow.

Looking down at himself, Yuuri realized his shirt was missing, and Phichit’s blood had been cleaned off. A bandage wrapped around his chest, and another around his leg where that creature had bitten him. He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath of air into his lungs.

Wasn’t he supposed to be dead?

The lingering pain in his chest told him he was still alive, but why? What had happened after that magic consumed him?

Gingerly, he stood. The ground was cold on his bare feet as he made his way through the door after the dog. He stepped over the holes in the floor, around the rubble and debris and pieces of the ceiling that had fallen. The hall was otherwise empty, with the exception of one massive golden clock at the very end, ticking steadily.

He heard a bark, and continued toward it, to a room at the far end of the hall on the left.

The door was ajar, so Yuuri pushed through.

To find the god of the forest lounging on a midnight blue sofa, staring out the window with a frown. There was no sign of the dog, just a large bed in the center of the room, and the couch under the window.

Yuuri’s eyes widened. He had just shoved his way into the forest god’s bedroom.

Yuuri took a careful step backward, praying that he wouldn’t be noticed.

The man straightened, then turned.

“Yuuri?” The god was up in a second, frown deepening as he looked Yuuri over once, twice. Yuuri took another step back. Was he going to be punished for intruding? Was he going to be killed—why hadn’t he been killed yet? That look in the god’s eyes as he sized Yuuri up—something like anger or disappointment—was terrifying, and it had Yuuri’s head feeling like mush. What on earth was he thinking? Yuuri took a third step back.

The forest god came closer, disapproval evident on his perfect face, and Yuuri braced himself. But the man just grabbed Yuuri’s hand and clasped it in both of his own, then lifted it up to press his lips on Yuuri’s skin. Yuuri just blinked, mouth opened slightly in surprise. If he was expecting anything, it certainly hadn’t been this.

“Yuuri.” Even the way the forest god said his name was captivating, the sharp consonant softened by long vowels. “You’re ice cold. You should be resting.”

Yuuri withdrew his hand, and bowed low at the waist. The movement hurt, but not as much as it probably should have. “I’m sorry for intruding, great forest god. Please, forgive me!”

Stunned silence, then the forest god laughed, startling Yuuri into standing. “I’m no forest god,” he said. “Call me Victor.”

“You—uh—” Yuuri stammered, trying to make sense of the situation through the mush his brain had become. “Victor?”

The man smiled and nodded. Yuuri furrowed his brow, and the forest god’s—Victor’s—eyes seemed to soften at Yuuri’s confusion. “Go back to bed,” he said gently. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

Yuuri did not want to wait until tomorrow, and he didn’t particularly want to go back to that strange room with its broken walls, but he moved forward as Victor guided him out of his own room and back to the one Yuuri had woken up in.

“Please,” Yuuri said as Victor gestured for him to lay down, which he did, wincing in discomfort at the old mattress. Victor lifted a bed sheet Yuuri hadn’t noticed before from the floor, where Yuuri must have kicked it off in his sleep. “Why am I still alive?”

Victor raised an eyebrow. Lifting his arms, he brought the blanket up into the air only to let it fall gently on top of Yuuri’s body. “Would you rather not be?”

Yuuri could feel a flush climbing up his neck when he realized what Victor was doing. The mighty god of the forest, Yuuri’s childhood savior and hero, was _tucking him into bed_.

“No, no.” Yuuri was quick to shake his head. “I’m glad. But…” He met Victor’s eyes. “Is Phichit…?”

Victor waved him off. “Your friend is alive and well. Although—” Victor put a finger on his chin as Yuuri relaxed in relief. “He should probably refrain from drinking so much. Just in general.”

“Then…” Yuuri frowned as he was covered with a second blanket Victor had apparently produced from thin air. “Why am I—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Victor’s tone was suddenly serious, his gaze unyielding, and Yuuri shrank back into his pillow. A shadow seemed to pass over Victor’s eyes, but it was gone before Yuuri was even really sure he had seen it, and the man’s cheerful demeanor was back once again. “Like I said, I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Try to get some rest.”

“But—”

The chime of the golden clock in the hallway split through the silence of the night, and Victor jumped.

Yuuri made to sit up, but Victor held up his hand. “Yuuri, don’t get up again,” he said, and the shadow was back, clouding those blue eyes into something grey and dark.

Victor let the door shut behind him, and Yuuri was plunged into inky darkness.

 

* * *

 

Victor leaned against Yuuri’s door, heart hammering. He stayed there only long enough to catch his breath before forcing himself to move, to hurry to his room and shut the door.

That clock hadn’t chimed in nearly five years. For it to happen tonight, of all nights…

Victor knelt, and reached underneath his bed for a large box made of white stone. He opened it—empty—reached his arms back to unclasp the chain that hung, heavy, around his neck. He pulled the sparkling blue pendant out from where it had been tucked into the front of his shirt and stared at it for a moment, frowning. Then he placed it delicately in the box, which he slid back under the bed.

Without giving himself time to think, he turned out the light and left his room, hurrying in the direction of the courtyard.

He had done a stupid thing, bringing Yuuri here. A stupid, foolish, _selfish_ thing. And he might have to pay dearly for it, one of these days.

Victor paused behind his own front door with one hand resting on the handle. He smoothed out his features, squared his shoulders and stood straighter to regain whatever composure he had lost being close to Yuuri. Lifting his chin, Victor opened the door and stepped out into the night.

Outside, the moon had disappeared behind a mask of clouds.

Fitting, Victor thought, descending the palace staircase with careful grace. Fitting for the figure at the bottom of the stairs that seemed to melt into existence from the darkness itself, tall and imposing. The figure turned to him, face cast in shadow.

Torn between something like joy and something like sorrow, Victor went to greet his guest.

“Welcome home,” Victor said to the tall figure as he came more clearly into view, face drawn in a glower of obvious distaste. ”Master.”

The man’s curly hair was speckled with grey—a new development after five years apart—but everything was otherwise unchanged. His face was unlined, and his eyes were still the same shade of midnight that had captivated Victor when they were both young—the same shade of midnight Victor had once wanted to fill with stars.

“I’m happy you’ve returned,” Victor said, reaching out a hand to the man, who simply glanced at it before turning and making his way to the front door.

Victor lowered his hand. He did not turn around, and instead kept his gaze away from the castle, toward the dark mass of the forest. “It’s been five years, Master.”

“This castle is in a state of disarray,” the man said sharply. “What have you been doing all this time?”

Victor tipped his face toward the sky, and allowed himself to wish for one fleeting moment that he still had the power to brush the clouds aside, to unveil the stars. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said simply.

The sound of footsteps on the stone slowed, then stopped. “Do you know why I chose you to protect this forest?”

Victor turned at the words, spoken softly. “No,” he said honestly.

The man’s feet shifted on the stairs, angling his body more fully toward Victor. “Because you’re the only one who can. And you’re letting it fall to ruin.”

Victor inclined his head. “My magic has been…less than present these days.”

A hand under Victor’s chin, suddenly, lifting it up roughly to force his eyes to meet those pools of black. “That’s stupid. This shouldn’t be so hard for you.”

Victor’s chin was released, and the man turned back toward the castle. Victor swallowed. “I didn’t know if you were coming back.”

The man stopped walking once again, turned just his head. “Is that really what you think of me?”

Victor cast his eyes to the ground. “It’s been a long time.”

He was there, then. Surrounding Victor in the embrace he had been waiting for all this time. “I’ll always come back, Victor. You know that.” The man pulled back slightly to look into Victor’s eyes once again. “I love you, remember?”

Victor nodded, but something in his chest ached.

“Come inside,” Victor said, pulling away and ignoring that nameless feeling. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Victor, I’ve had a long night. Filled with disappointment.” His eyes flashed. “I’m not hungry.”

Victor clutched his chest with a cry as desire shot through him, deep and burning and white-hot, so strong it was almost painful.

The obsidian in the master’s eyes seemed to shift to an even deeper black as he smiled down at Victor from the stairs. “I trust you’ve kept my bedroom intact,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always, always appreciated. The feedback is what keeps me going.


	3. The Power of Suffering

Yuuri stared at the ceiling of his small borrowed room until dim light began to filter through the holes in the wall.

He'd barely gotten a wink of sleep. The pain in his chest had become increasingly worse throughout the night to the point that even breathing had become difficult. He had tried calling out for Victor several times, but the man had never come. Yuuri’s door had opened at one point, but it had only been the dog, whining and pawing at the foot of Yuuri’s bed almost as if she wanted Yuuri to follow her. But he couldn’t move through the pain, so in the end the poodle had just let out one last _yip_ and curled herself up at Yuuri’s side.

Now, for whatever reason, the pain had finally dissolved into a dull ache—bothersome, still a little painful, but manageable.

Now he just really had to pee.

The poodle’s head lifted up, and her tail twitched.

“Yuuri,” Victor’s voice came through the door along with a soft knock. “I’ve brought you some clothes.”

“You can come in,” Yuuri replied, sitting up carefully.

The door swung open, and Victor came in carrying a giant armful of clothing. He peeked his head around the pile. “I didn’t know which you would prefer so I brought all of— Yuuri, you’re bleeding!”

Yuuri looked down at himself to find that he was, indeed, bleeding. Or, at least, he had been. The wound in his chest must have opened up in the night—that must have been where the pain had come from—and blood had seeped through his bandages to stain them a harsh red.

“I feel fine now,” Yuuri insisted, even as Victor dumped the pile of clothes on the bed and sat down. “Honestly.”

“We still need to change the bandages. Makka!” Victor addressed his poodle, who jumped off the bed, turned in three excited circles, and bounced out of the room. Victor peeled Yuuri’s bandages off with quick, deft hands. “This shouldn’t have happened,” he muttered.

It was still jarring, to be this close to the forest god—er—Victor. To have his hands on him…

“Uh—Victor?” Yuuri said, picking fixedly at the bedsheets covering his legs. He didn’t feel quite comfortable looking Victor in the eyes, not when he was this close. “You said you’d explain everything…”

“Of course.” Yuuri looked up as Victor smiled, still examining his wound. But the smile was strange; it did not quite meet his eyes. Victor’s fingers gently pressed down. “Does this hurt, Yuuri?”

Yuuri shook his head, trying to take shallow breaths—probably a bad idea given his condition, but he couldn’t handle those hands on him, the way those fingers pressed so softly on his skin.

Yuuri swallowed. “Why am I alive?”

It was a moment before Victor answered, but his fingers continued their careful prodding. Yuuri focused his attention on the ceiling above them.

“You’re alive,” Victor said, finally, “because I did not particularly want you to die.”

Yuuri furrowed his brows. “But you said—”

“I know what I said.” Victor leaned back, removing his hands, and Yuuri could finally breathe again. “Things changed. The _how_ isn’t so important, anyway. Not really.” Victor’s head turned at the sound of paws on stone. “Ah, Makkachin, you’re back.” Victor removed one white cloth and one roll of bandages from the poodle’s mouth, patting her head in thanks.

Yuuri looked at the slobber-soaked cloth. “Is that really sanitary?”

Victor put a hand on his chest in mock offense. “How dare you, of course it’s sanitary! Makka’s slobber is the cleanest in the world, isn’t that right, girl?”

The poodle turned in a circle and barked sharply.

“Back to business,” Victor said, turning back to Yuuri. “I’ll fix this, and you listen.”

Yuuri nodded warily. Victor snapped his fingers, and a small patch of air beside the bed shimmered slightly. It seemed to fold in on itself for a moment, then a tiny cloud popped into existence beside them. Tiny thunder crackled, tiny lightning flashed, and the cloud began to rain.

Yuuri let out a surprised laugh. “Victor, that’s amazing!”

Victor didn’t respond, just soaked the white cloth in rainwater and wrung it out onto the floor. He turned back to Yuuri, and there was a small crease between his brows. He began to speak as he cleaned the blood off Yuuri’s chest. “You’re alive, but there are… conditions.”

Yuuri frowned. “Conditions?”

Victor nodded, wringing the cloth out under the raincloud once again. “One. You can leave the castle, but you can’t leave the forest. You are now bound to it as much as I am.”

Never leave the forest… That meant Yuuri would never see his family again, he would never see Phichit. Then again, Yuuri wouldn’t have been able to see them again anyway, had he actually died…

He nodded, and Victor continued. “Two. You’ll help around the castle grounds, wherever it needs to be done.”

Yuuri refrained from pointing out that a better question was where it _didn’t_ need to be done, and instead motioned for Victor to keep going.

“And three.” Victor unrolled a strip of bandage to wrap around Yuuri’s chest, which brought him so close to Yuuri that he stopped breathing again. When the bandage was on tight, Victor did not move away. He put a gentle hand under Yuuri’s chin to urge him to make eye contact, and smiled. “I’m going to teach you magic.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened at the same time his stomach growled. Both men looked down in surprise.

Victor stood, quickly. “You’re hungry! Get dressed, and I’ll make breakfast.” The man made to leave, resting his hand on the doorknob.

“Ah, Victor?”

The man turned, blue eyes sparkling. “Yes, Yuuri?”

“I have to pee.”

…………

Fifteen minutes later—after Victor had pointed out the nearest bathroom—Yuuri was dressed and sitting at a small breakfast table in a large kitchen, watching Victor spoon eggs onto a plate.

Victor placed the eggs on the table with a flourish, and Yuuri picked up his fork, mouth watering. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until the food was in front of him. A thought hit him, and he voiced it before digging in: “If you can’t leave the forest, where do you get food?”

Victor cracked another egg into the skillet in front of him and began stirring the stuff with his wooden spoon. “Some of it I grow myself, some I have brought to me.” He pointed at Yuuri with the wooden spoon. “These eggs came from my chickens.”

“You have chickens?” Smiling, Yuuri pictured Victor, the mighty god of the forest, cradling a hen in his arms.

Victor gave him an odd look. “Is that so strange?”

Yuuri shook his head, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “No,” he said. “It’s…” _cute_ , he wanted to say, but he stopped himself. “It’s nice.”

Yuuri thought Victor might smile, but he only looked thoughtful.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asked, lowering his fork from his mouth. “You seem…different.”

“You’ve only known me for a day,” Victor said, but he didn’t look at Yuuri. “I’m okay.” He angled his body in Yuuri’s direction as he continued to cook. “I should be asking you that question, actually. How is the pain in your chest?”

“Gone,” Yuuri said. “Pretty much, anyway.” There was still a lingering sensation—an echo of something that was almost like pain, but it wasn’t hard to ignore.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all,” Victor said, repeating the words he had spoken earlier.

“I tried calling out to you last night,” Yuuri said offhandedly around a mouthful of eggs.

Apparently, it was something he should have kept to himself. The hand Victor was using to stir the eggs slowed, stopped. He fixed his gaze on the food sizzling in front of him. “I didn’t hear you,” he said.

Yuuri swallowed his food quickly. “It’s okay,” he said, putting down his fork. “I assumed you were asleep.”

Victor stared down at the eggs a moment longer, then resumed stirring. “I’m sure I was.”

“I’m really okay,” Yuuri pressed. “I feel fine.”

Victor nodded, tight-lipped, but he still would not look at Yuuri. He spooned the rest of the eggs onto Yuuri’s plate, and then brushed his hands off on his pants. “Feel free to eat as much as you want,” he said, making his way toward the door. “I have some matters to attend to.”

“You aren’t going to eat?”

Victor paused, eyes on the floor. “I’m not hungry. Please, excuse me.”

He left Yuuri in the kitchen, confused and perplexed.

…………

Yuuri didn’t see Victor the entire rest of the day. He even wandered into Victor’s bedroom only to find it dark and empty.

He busied himself by playing with Makkachin—who apparently wasn’t invited wherever Victor had gone either—and reading the countless books he found scattered around the castle. Victor had enough books laying around to fill an entire library, although Yuuri had yet to actually find one.

At night, when Victor still did not show up, Yuuri wandered dejectedly toward what he now considered his bedroom. His chest was beginning to ache again, but he suspected the wound wasn’t to blame this time. What on earth had he done to make Victor disappear like this?

When Yuuri reached his room he found the floor completely dry from the water of this morning, and a couple new pieces of furniture. There was now a small table next to his bed with a lamp sitting on top, and a trunk that Yuuri found, upon further inspection, to be filled with the clothes that had been in a heap on his bed just this morning. More clothes sat on his bed, folded neatly—pajamas, Yuuri realized after he unfolded them. Silk pajamas. It was kind of Victor to think of them, but they were unnecessary, as Yuuri usually didn’t wear anything to bed at all.

Still, he slipped them on. This might be as close to Victor as he was going to get, at least for tonight.

A piece of paper fell from the breast pocket of the shirt, and Yuuri picked it up off the floor.

_Sorry to leave so abruptly_. it read. _I’m usually a much better host. Don’t know what’s gotten into me. Your magic lessons will begin shortly, so be ready!_

Relieved, clutching the note to his chest, Yuuri settled down into bed.

But the lessons did not begin the next day. Or the next.

Each night there was a new note on Yuuri’s bed promising Victor would be back soon, but there was no sign of the man himself.

On the third night, there was no note at all.

* * *

 

Victor looked out over his dying garden and crossed his arms. “What happened?”

The fae youth beside him just ruffled his orange tiger-butterfly wings in annoyance. “How the hell should I know?” he said. “It all just started”—he made a face—” _withering_.”

Victor sighed and patted the young man on the head. “Thanks for trying, Yuri.”

“Hey,” Yuri said with a scowl. “You’re messing up my flowers!” He readjusted the crown of daisies atop his head. “My flowers are just about the only thing that will grow anymore,” he added, glaring at the browning crops in front of them.

Victor said nothing.

Yuri looked at him from the corner of his eye. He flapped his wings once, twice. “Victor, when are you going home?”

Victor gave Yuri the ghost of a smile. “Tired of having me around?”

“Yes,” the fae said without missing a beat. “Since day one.”

Victor sighed and plopped himself down on the ground. “Dunno,” he said. Absently, he brought his hand up to touch the glittering blue pendant around his neck.

“You have to,” Yuri said. “You can’t stay with me anymore.”

Victor sighed again and let himself fall backwards so he was laying on the ground. He knew Yuri was just trying to help, but sometimes the kid’s tactics were a bit much.

“So whats-his-face spends the night and he’s gone by morning. Big deal.” Yuri sat down next to Victor, looking cross. “He’s done it enough times that it shouldn’t be surprising anymore.”

Victor tightened his hand around the pendant. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said.

“ _Tch_.” Yuri crossed his arms. “I’m a hundred years old, I understand plenty.”

Victor almost smiled. A hundred years; still a baby as far as Victor was concerned. And Yuuri, only a mere twenty three…

“I failed them,” Victor said at last, releasing the pendant and standing.

“ _How_?” Yuri barked angrily. But Victor didn’t feel like talking anymore.

He raised a hand in farewell, and headed away from the garden.

He _had_ failed them. Especially Yuuri. He hadn’t been there for him, and Yuuri’s wound had opened back up. He could have died. The thought made Victor’s feet slow, made him feel sick to his stomach.

He reached up to touch the pendant once more. He would never take it off again—doing so the first time had nearly cost Yuuri his life.

But if his master came back, if he saw the necklace…

A cold wind blew, and thunder rumbled. What was the likelihood he would even come back? It had taken him five years to visit this time; it had been three before that. When would he stop coming altogether?

Victor’s feet began moving again, but he wasn’t sure where they were taking him. He didn’t really care.

His head felt strange—fuzzy; hazy, like the clouds that shadowed the sky had taken over his mind, too.

What if the master never came back again?

And if he did, what if Yuuri…

Victor stared at his knees on the ground. When had he fallen?

He lifted his eyes, in a daze. When had he returned home? The ruins of his castle stood in front of him, cold and empty and dead.

What if he never came back—

What if Yuuri—

A chunk of stone detached from one of the pillars, falling to the ground and cracking on impact.

Victor cast his eyes back to the ground as another _crack_ sounded, closer now, and another piece of Victor’s home crumbled.

What if he never—

What if Yuuri—

The clouds broke open, and rain flooded the sky.

What if he—

What if—

_What if_

Another rock hit the ground, close enough for Victor to feel the breeze it made as it fell—close enough to shake the ground on which he knelt.

His vision blurred as his castle fell around him.

A voice materialized from the drops of rain, and Victor extended a hand to the torrent, tipped his face up to meet the rain where it was. What a lovely voice, and it was calling Victor’s name. Victor thought maybe he could sit here forever, shrouded by the comfort of heavy rain and that lovely, melodic voice—

Stinging pain bloomed across Victor’s cheek, and his head snapped sideways. All at once the rain stopped, along with the rumble in the ground and the cracks spreading across the half-ruined castle.

“Victor?” Yuuri was kneeling in front of him, brushing Victor’s hair from his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yuuri.” Victor sat back, put a hand on his own cheek. “Did you just slap me?”

Yuuri covered his eyes, clearly horrified. “Oh gods, Victor, I’m so sorry! You didn’t seem to hear me and it was raining and everything was falling apart and—”

Gently, Victor lifted Yuuri’s hands from his face. Those brown eyes widened, lashes dripping with rain water.

Without thinking, Victor pulled Yuuri into a hug. He stiffened, then relaxed all at once, returning Victor’s embrace with just as much force. The man was soaking wet—they both were—but that didn’t matter. Not right now. “I’m the one that’s sorry,” he said into the crook of Yuuri’s neck. “I shouldn’t have left.”

Yuuri’s voice was muffled when he answered. “I was worried about you.”

Victor’s eyes snapped open, and his breath hitched. “Yuuri…”

But Yuuri was already pulling away, already standing. “Come on,” he said, extending his hand to help Victor up. “Let’s get you dry before you catch a cold.”

Victor accepted Yuuri’s hand gratefully, realizing for the first time in three days just how exhausted he really was.

“Gods don’t get sick,” he said.

But he held tight to Yuuri’s hand as he was led through the debris and destruction and back toward a part of the castle that was still intact—somewhere warm and dry.

Somewhere slightly less broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case it wasn't clear enough, Yuri P. is his regular human size, he's just got wings.


	4. Invincible

“I thought you said gods don’t get sick.”

Victor sniffled from where he lay on his midnight blue sofa, pouting and holding a pillow to his chest. “I’m not sick,” he said.

It had been only a few hours since the incident in the courtyard, since Yuuri had led Victor back to the castle and ushered him into his room to rest—which the god obstinately refused to do. It was a delicate situation, Yuuri thought. He wanted badly to ask Victor about the whole thing; to ask why he had been destroying his own home and how much of it had been on purpose, where he had been the past three days and why he hadn’t come back sooner. But he didn’t ask. It wasn’t his business.

Yuuri leaned against the door frame. “You look sick.”

Victor shook his head vehemently, but he didn’t get up. “I’m not.” He looked at Yuuri over the pillow. “We’re starting your lessons today no matter what.”

Yuuri pursed his lips to keep a smile at bay—Victor was so stubborn.

“Fine,” Yuuri said at last. “I think you could use a rest, but fine.” Yuuri kicked his foot forward, but he remained leaning against the door. He tipped his face toward the ceiling. “I was going to make you hot tea—” he cast a sideways glance in Victor’s direction—”Maybe some food.”

Victor peeked a little farther over the pillow, and it took all of Yuuri’s willpower to keep the smile off his face now. “Probably wait on you hand and foot. Maybe draw you a bath—”

“I’m sick,” Victor said, sitting up. “I’m very, very sick. I’ve never been so sick in my life, ask Makkachin.” He touched his forearm to his head and let out an exaggerated groan. “I think I feel faint, actually. Vision!” Victor breathed in a sudden gasp of air —”Going!”—breathed it back out dramatically—”Dark!”

Yuuri laughed out loud, glad that his joke was received well—happy that Victor might actually allow himself to rest for a while. He seemed like he needed it.

Victor lowered his arm and gave Yuuri a wide-eyed look, like he was surprised at his laughter.

“Tea first,” Yuuri said. “You’ll have to tell me where it is.”

“Ah, about that.” Victor shrugged apologetically. “I don’t have any.” His face lit up, then, and he pushed his pillow to the side. “But I know where we can get some.”

With a look of deep concentration, Victor clapped his hands together, then slowly pulled them apart. A ball of white light grew between his palms until it was roughly the size of a dinner plate. “Go find Yuri,” Victor said, releasing the ball into the air. The orb hung there for a second, flooding the room with light, then flitted toward a confused Yuuri to circle around his head like a bird.

“Not that one!” Victor yelled, and the ball made one last circle around Yuuri before zooming out the window.

Victor sighed. “Useless thing.” Then he smiled up at Yuuri, and there was a twinkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “You said something about a bath?”

“Oh,” Yuuri said. “You don’t want to wait for the—um—” He gestured to the window from which the orb had escaped.

Victor just chuckled, and stood up. “It will take a while for it to reach him. We have time.” He winked, and Yuuri raised his brows.

“Maybe we should start with some food,” Yuuri said, suddenly apprehensive. It wasn’t as if he didn’t _want_ to help Victor bathe himself—although, the mere thought of being that close to naked Victor was tying Yuuri’s stomach into painful knots. No, he certainly would not mind helping out in that way if it was necessary, but…

“Have you eaten anything today?” Yuuri asked. “At all?”

“Gods don’t need to eat as much as you humans do,” Victor replied, waving off the question.

Yuuri crossed his arms. “You also told me gods don’t get sick.”

“We don’t.”

Yuuri made an exasperated noise, and Victor held his hands up in laughing surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll eat.” His eyes sparkled. “But then I get a bath, yes?”

“Fine,” Yuuri agreed, following an eager Victor in the direction of the kitchen. “Yes, I’ll fill the tub for you. But whatever I make, you have to eat all of it.”

Victor stopped abruptly and spun around to face Yuuri, who nearly crashed into him in confused surprise. He grabbed both of Yuuri’s hands in his own, and brought them to his chest. His voice was low as he spoke. “I would be honored to eat whatever you make for me, Yuuri.”

Heat scorched through Yuuri’s hands, cradled as they were within Victor’s. It took a moment too long for him to realize that the heat wasn’t just the flush of exhilaration that came with Victor’s touch—it was coming from Victor himself.

Yuuri pulled himself free of Victor’s grasp and pressed the back of his hand to the man’s forehead. Sure enough, warmth radiated from him, and a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin.

“Come on,” Yuuri said, nudging Victor forward. He needed some good food and a cool bath, and then some real rest. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m not the only one,” Victor said with a sharp smile, and Yuuri nearly stumbled on the uneven stone of the hallway.

“You can have the rest of my lunch,” Yuuri said, ignoring the spike in his blood pressure from Victor’s fever-induced flirtation. “All you had in the kitchen was a bunch of vegetables, so I boiled them.”

“Boiled vegetables?” Victor made a face.

“Its better than nothing,” Yuuri said defensively, stepping over the threshold to the kitchen. “Food is important.”

Yuuri’s meal was still in the pot from earlier that day. Victor ate it quickly, not even bothering to heat it up before scarfing it down and then looking at Yuuri expectantly when he was done.

“Alright, alright.” Laughing, Yuuri shook his head. For a powerful god able to summon rainclouds and light and destroy buildings without a thought, Victor was sort of… dorky.

Victor stood, but Yuuri thought he might have wobbled a bit as he did so. “This will be a good time to start your lessons,” Victor said, seemingly oblivious to his own lack of balance. “We can begin by heating the water.”

Victor left the kitchen with Yuuri in tow, but the dancer was shaking his head as he followed. “A hot bath isn’t a good idea. You need lukewarm water, maybe some herbs to soak in…” Yuuri trailed off, noticing where they were going for the first time. It was a part of the castle Yuuri hadn’t yet explored—a dark, crumbling part, even more run-down than the rest. Yuuri had assumed exploring this far would be too dangerous, but Victor obviously knew where he was going.

They passed several sections of wall and ceiling that had fallen apart almost completely. Wind from the outside tugged at Yuuri’s clothes and hair, but Victor remained unruffled. Perhaps that was simply one of the perks of being a god. Which reminded him…

“Victor?” Yuuri asked, frowning. “You said you weren’t the forest god, but you still keep referring to yourself as a god, so…”

Victor didn’t turn, just waved a dismissive hand as he continued walking. “I am a god,” he said, “though not technically _of_ this forest.”

“But—”

“Here we are!” Victor interrupted, stopping in front of a surprisingly intact set of doors set into a surprisingly unbroken portion of wall. He pushed open the doors to reveal a bathing room that was bigger than any other room Yuuri had seen in the castle thus far—bigger, and less damaged. In fact, the whole room looked pristine and well cared for—from the large, arched windows on the far wall that overlooked the dilapidated courtyard, to the tub that dipped right down into the floor and was roughly the size of a small pool. The walls were lined with crystals the size of boulders, shining dimly in all the colors Yuuri had ever seen and several he hadn’t. They were the only source of light in the room—save for that of the setting sun which was spilling through the windows—and they filled the large space with a lovely ethereal glow.

Yuuri stepped through the doors, impressed. The whole thing was magnificent.

“This is one of my favorite rooms.” Victor said, following Yuuri in.

Yuuri could only nod in agreement.

Remembering why they were there, Yuuri made his way to the tub and fiddled with the faucet.

“Use only cold water,” Victor said from where he still stood in the doorway. “I want you to heat it up by yourself, to the best of your abilities. It will help me gauge how much magic you can actually use.”

Yuuri complied, turning only the cold faucet on, but he frowned. “I told you, you need a cool bath.” He began to turn back toward Victor. “I’ve never done magic like this anyw—”

Yuuri choked on the end of the sentence as he watched Victor unfasten the last button on his shirt and shrug it off, tossing it unceremoniously to the side of the room, then reach for his pants.

Crying out in alarm, Yuuri closed his eyes and turned back to the tub. “It isn’t even filled yet!” he squeaked.

“First rule of magic,” Victor said, stepping past a fiercely blushing Yuuri and lowering himself into the tub, “never spend time waiting for something you can accomplish yourself.”

Curious despite himself, Yuuri opened his eyes to find the bath filled to the brim with water, and Victor grimacing from within. A blue pendant hung from his neck—strange, Yuuri hadn’t noticed it before.

“That’s the first rule?” Yuuri said, grateful that the dim light in the room made the bathwater less than clear.

Victor shrugged, a pained expression on his face. “Maybe. It’s up there. Probably.” He gripped the edge of the tub. “Yuuri, please. This water’s freezing.”

“Oh!” Yuuri scrambled closer to Victor, then paused as he knelt in front of the water, uncertain. “I don’t know how.”

Victor made an impatient noise. “Just imagine warm water,” he said. “This is beginner level stuff, Yuuri. Who taught you magic?”

“Nobody?” Yuuri said, lowering his hands into the tub. “You can’t _learn_ magic. You either have it or you don’t.” Of course a _god_ wouldn’t understand—Victor was probably blessed with immense magical ability since the day he was born. Sighing, Yuuri tried to imagine the water getting warmer, but nothing happened.

“Who told you that?” Victor asked. He had begun to shiver, causing small waves to splash over the edge of the tub. If Yuuri didn’t manage this soon, he would get soaked, too.

“Everyone knows that.”

“Yuuri, look at me.”

Yuuri’s eyes moved to Victor’s. The god looked thoughtful, even as he wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to keep warm. “Imagine something that makes you warm. Sunlight, a hearth fire, a lover’s embrace—use that to fuel the magic.”

A lover’s embrace… A sudden, uninvited image of the king of Sol popped into Yuuri’s head, and he winced.

Victor cried out, and Yuuri took his hands out of the water as soon as he realized that he had _lowered_ the temperature instead of raising it.

“That wasn’t the reaction I expected,” Victor said through gritted teeth. “Put your hands back in.”

Yuuri stared at the water and did as he was told, imagined harder, goosebumps sprouting on his own arms as he concentrated.

“Perhaps you should just join me,” Victor said. Yuuri looked up in surprise to find those blue eyes on him, remarkably striking even in the faint light. “If you’re not going to use magic, I’d at least like to be comfortable.” He cocked his head to the side. “Your body heat might be enough, don’t you think?”

Swallowing, Yuuri held Victor’s stare. He tried to tell himself that Victor had a fever (even if it was a small one); that nothing he said should be taken seriously right then and would most likely be forgotten by morning, but…

Victor’s eyes lit up at the same time Yuuri felt it—a strange tug at the back of his mind, in his fingers. And a moment later, the water was warm. Not hot, but just warm enough to suit Victor’s condition.

“You did it.” Victor pouted, but his eyes shone. “Was the idea of joining me really so bad?”

Yuuri pulled his hands out of the water and took several steps back, exhausted. He had never done magic quite like that before, and it was draining. He stared at his hands through blurred eyes. Maybe this was foolish after all. Victor had said this was beginner level magic—and even then it was clearly all Yuuri could do.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Victor promised, sinking himself lower into the tub. Yuuri was quite sure he wouldn’t, but he held his tongue. There was no point in arguing right now.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Yuuri said, sighing. His nerves were tighter than they had ever been before, and there was a strange tingling sensation throughout his skin—like he might burst into flame at any moment. Most likely his body telling him to rest after using up what little magical energy he possessed. “I’ll come check on you in a while.”

“Wait,” Victor said, sitting up. “Don’t go.”

Yuuri blinked. “Why not?” What did Victor want him to do, stand there until he was done?

The sound of water splashing hit Yuuri’s ears, and he struggled to focus his vision enough to see clearly. Victor moved to the side of the tub closest to Yuuri, gripping the edge with both hands. “I’m sick,” he said, as if that was a perfectly acceptable reason. “And I can’t reach my back on my own.”

Yuuri’s resolve melted at Victor’s puppy dog eyes, and he relented, even as that strange tingling sensation worsened. “Fine,” he said. “Where do you keep your—” Before Yuuri could finish, a soft, damp cloth was in his hands along with a dry towel and a bar of rose-scented soap. Victor crossed his arms on the edge of the tub, then laid his head down on his arms, waiting.

“Okay then,” Yuuri chuckled nervously, setting the dry towel aside and sitting himself down on the floor beside the tub. Victor _had_ saved his life, after all. Somehow. And he _was_ letting him stay at the castle for free, even if the whole thing was falling apart. And he _did_ clean the blood off Yuuri’s chest when his wound had opened up. This was just… repayment. Doing this one small thing for Victor—it was the least Yuuri could do, considering all Victor had done for him thus far.

So Yuuri dipped the cloth into the water and lathered the soap on Victor’s back, careful to keep his hand from making contact with Victor’s skin.

Victor hummed in delight, and Yuuri fixed his eyes firmly on the ceiling. He scrambled for something to talk about—any topic that would distract him from the fact that there was nothing but a single thin cloth between his skin and Victor’s.

Glancing back down, Yuuri’s eyes caught sight of something he had not noticed before: a small black mark inked onto Victor's back.

“What does this symbol mean?” Yuuri asked, brushing the soap from the tattoo so he could get a better look.

“What symbol?” Victor asked, voice drowsy.

“Your tattoo.”

Victor grunted as Yuuri removed his hand from his back. “I don’t have a tattoo, Yuuri, keep going.”

But Yuuri didn’t move. The symbol was there, deep black and made of swirling lines that connected and overlapped in a way that looked… that almost seemed…

Barely registering what he was doing, Yuuri reached down to trace the lines with his finger. The moment his skin made contact, searing heat shot through him, and he pulled back with a sharp intake of breath.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong?” Victor sat up. Apparently, whatever Yuuri had felt, Victor hadn’t.

“You need some rest,” Yuuri said, slightly worried. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but it didn’t feel right. He splashed water over Victor to rinse off the rest of the soap, then he stood, extending his hand. “Come on.”

Victor looked disappointed. “I was going to show you the forest,” he said, grabbing Yuuri’s outstretched hand and pulling himself up. “It’s beautiful at night—one of the most amazing views I’ve ever seen.”

Yuuri felt himself falling before Victor had even finished his sentence. He had miscalculated how heavy Victor was and underestimated how slippery the floor would be when wet, and he went down with a yelp, dragging a fully naked Victor down with him.

Bewildered, winded, Yuuri blinked several times before understanding set in and he realized Victor’s full weight was pressing into him; Victor was on top of him, naked.

Victor pulled himself up onto his elbows and blinked down at Yuuri. The pendant winked as it caught the light of the crystals. “I was wrong,” he said, eyes twinkling. “I like this view much better.”

Yuuri’s mouth opened in shock just as the bathroom door burst open.

The white orb zoomed in, crashing itself into the walls and the floor and the ceiling before finally diving into the tub with a _splash_ and a sizzle.

A voice, heated and annoyed, followed right after, and Yuuri could hear footsteps storming into the room. “This had better be good, Victor. I was in the middle of—what the _hell_?”

Face burning, Yuuri peeked past Victor’s head to find a blond fae male with orange wings staring down at the two of them with obvious, disgusted surprise.

“Yuri!” Victor said in delight, angling his body to face the boy. “My tea!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated with myself for 487148 years on whether to post this right now or wait till the next chapter is finished so I could post them at the same time, because I know I promised some reveals and I did not exactly deliver in this chapter. I actually added more mysteries, oops. It's been like twelve days since I last updated though, so I just decided to do it now. 
> 
> BUT Yuri P. is here to EXPLAIN some junk to Yuuri in the next chapter, I promise. Everything will make sense soon, so thanks for hanging around!
> 
> And thanks for reading!!


	5. Before it All Falls Down

Victor pushed himself up off the floor and into a sitting position while Yuuri scrambled to stand.

“Yuri, meet Yuuri.” Victor said with a grin.

The two of them stared at each other—the blond fae outright glaring, and the human dancer looking back in sheer embarrassment.

Victor stood and stretched, then started toward the door. “Let’s get that tea going,” he said.

Yuuri tore his eyes from the other Yuri’s. “Victor, wait! You’re uh—”Yuuri averted his eyes even as he gestured at Victor’s still naked body.

Victor looked down at himself. “Oh,” he said, then he snapped his fingers and he was fully clothed, just like that.

“I should have had you dress me, actually,” Victor said, looking back up at Yuuri. “As part of your lesson.”

The fae male made a sort of choking sound from the doorway. “Victor, if you don’t need me I’m leaving.”

“Nonsense,” Victor said, walking past Yuri and into the hall. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Yuuri hung behind as they all walked, noting the easy way in which the two other men talked to each other, as if they had known each other a very long time.

“You look nice—so dressed up,” Victor was saying. “Did I interrupt a date?”

“Course not,” the fae huffed. “I was—I was in a meeting.”

“You always wear that many flowers to your meetings?” Victor said, touching one of the many daisies adorning Yuri’s outfit.

“I’m proud of my flowers,” Yuri growled, smacking Victor’s hand away. “I’ll wear as many as I want, whenever I want.”

Yuuri furrowed his brows as Victor laughed. He wondered if he would ever get to be so comfortable around Victor.

“What was so important that you sent one of your orbs after me anyway?” Yuri asked with a flap of his wings.

“Yuuri thought I could use some tea.”

The fae stopped walking. “Tea?” He turned to Yuuri, incredulous. “You interrupted my da—uh, my meeting—for some _tea_?”

Victor nodded, but he kept walking. “I’m sick.”

Yuri threw up his arms and walked briskly toward Victor. “Why didn’t you just magic some in?” he said. “Snap your fingers or whatever it is you do?”

Victor shrugged. “I’m sick,” he said again.

They reached the kitchen, Yuri muttering something about self-centered gods as he stepped through the door. He reached into the pouch at his belt and pulled out several herbs, smacking them down on the table one by one. “Boil some water,” he snapped at Yuuri, and Yuuri did as he was told.

Yuuri watched Victor as he sat down at the table, resting his chin in his hands and watching Yuri separate the herbs and crush them together between his fingers, before producing a square of cheesecloth from his pouch and tying it neatly around the herbs.

Yuri shoved the bundle into a surprised Yuuri’s hands. “Steep this for four minutes,” he demanded, then he stalked out of the room.

“Is he always like that?” Yuuri asked, turning to Victor.

“Oh, no. Not at all,” Victor said, smiling up at Yuuri. “He’s usually much worse.”

Yuuri dropped the bundle of herbs into a mug he found on the counter and poured in the boiling water. He then placed a small wooden lid on top and set the cup aside to steep.

“After this, you need to get some rest,” Yuuri said. “And stop using so much magic, that can’t be helping your condition.”

Victor’s grin widened. “So demanding, Yuuri. Remind me, who’s the one in charge of this castle?”

Yuuri felt the blood rush to his face. “You are! You are, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I just—you’re—”

“It’s okay,” Victor interrupted, cocking his head to the side. “You’re right, anyway. I’ve been overworking myself.”

Yuuri sighed, relieved that the god wasn’t offended, but the look in Victor’s eyes was worrisome. He looked sad, perhaps a bit ashamed. Yuuri wondered if it had anything to do with the state of the castle and the forest surrounding it. If Victor felt overworked even when so many things were falling apart…

“Yuuri,” Victor said, interrupting Yuuri’s thoughts with sparkling eyes and a wicked smile. “Take me to bed, will you?”

………

Yuuri couldn’t believe he, a humble dancer from a small village, was actually putting this beautiful, feverish god to bed. The whole situation was ridiculous, but even so Yuuri could barely keep his nerves to himself. His hands were nearly shaking as he propped up several pillows on Victor’s bed so the god could sit up to drink his tea.

 _Maybe I need some rest, too_ , Yuuri thought, gesturing for Victor to lay down, which he did.

“Thank you,” Victor said, lifting the mug from his bedside table and taking a sip. He winced at the taste, and lowered the mug down to his lap. “Bitter,” he said.

“But effective?”

Victor nodded. “I’m sure it will be.”

Yuuri pulled the blankets up to Victor’s lap. “Hopefully your fever will be down by tomorrow,” he said.

“I should be the one taking care of you,” Victor said quietly, a small crease forming between his brows. “You almost died and here I am, letting you coddle me like a child.”

“It’s not coddling if you need it,” Yuuri pointed out.

Victor yawned. “I guess that’s true.”

“Victor…” Yuuri hesitated, looking down at his hands. So many unanswered questions swirled around his head he wasn’t sure which to ask first, or if he should really even ask any of them at all. The state of Victor’s castle seemed to be worsening by the day, but Yuuri wasn’t sure it was his place to be concerned about it. Then there was the tattoo, which Victor had claimed didn’t exist—not to mention the strange surge of power Yuuri had felt when he had touched it.

He settled on the question that seemed the safest—the question that had been weighing the most on Yuuri’s mind since the moment he had woken up in Victor’s castle. “Victor, do you remember saving me when I was a child?”

But when Yuuri looked back at Victor, the man was already asleep.

Even though he didn’t get any answers, Yuuri smiled softly as he took the the mug from Victor’s hands. The god looked so much younger when he was asleep, with his mouth slightly open and his long lashes resting on his cheeks. Power didn’t radiate from him like it usually did, like his magic was asleep, too. He looked almost… human.

The smile fell from Yuuri’s face as quickly as it had come, and he had to remind himself that Victor _wasn’t_ human. And even if he were, if things had been different, there was no way in hell Victor would have ever looked twice in Yuuri’s direction. Yuuri—a plain boy from a plain town without much to offer in the way of looks or money or magic. The only reason _anyone_ ever looked twice at him was because of his dancing, and Yuuri knew it. He was a good dancer, sure. But only because he had had so much time to practice.

Yuuri turned to leave. He wasn’t so sure he deserved to be here, to even be in the presence of someone like Victor. He knew he was only able to be this close to the god now because he was tethered to this forest, for whatever reason. And Victor just happened to be near when Phichit decided to get himself killed.

The blond fae—the other Yuri—was leaning on the wall outside Victor’s bedroom when Yuuri stepped out.

“You’re still here,” Yuuri said, shutting the door behind him.

Blond Yuri scowled. “Of course I’m still here.” He thrust a finger toward Yuuri. “We need to talk.”

Minutes later, the two of them were standing on the front steps of the castle with the moon as their only source of light. Fortunately the moon was full, the sky free of clouds.

“If you hurt Victor, I’ll kill you,” the blond Yuri said, jumping right into the point with a glare. “I’m serious.”

Yuuri looked the fae youth over, from his butterfly wings to the multitude of daisies decorating his hair and his clothes. But he didn’t doubt for a second that this kid could probably flay him alive. Besides, Yuuri, hurting Victor? The thought was almost laughable.

“I would never,” Yuuri promised, holding his hands up.

“Good,” the fae said with a huff. He sat himself down on one of the steps and leaned back against the step behind him, wings folding delicately against his back.

Yuuri sat next to him. “Victor saved my life, he cleaned my wounds. I owe him everything.”

Yuri gave him a sharp look. “He cleaned your wounds? With his hands?”

Yuuri felt his face flush, and he looked at the ground. “I’m sorry if you don’t think I’m worthy of Victor’s help.”

“You aren’t,” Yuri scoffed. “But that isn’t what I meant. He didn’t have to do that. He could have removed the blood in a second with magic.” Before the words could really sink in, the heated look in the fae’s eyes melted into something more somber. “Victor is sick again,” he said, staring up at the sky. It wasn’t a question.

“Again?” Yuuri frowned. “He told me gods don’t get sick.”

“They don’t,” the blond said. “At least they’re not supposed to.”

“So this has happened before?” If that was the case, why would Victor have tried to tell him he couldn’t get sick? Victor didn’t seem like the lying type, but if this had happened before…

“A few times.” Yuri said. “Every time the old man comes around and leaves again. Every time Victor thinks too much about him.”

Yuuri furrowed his brows. “Old man?”

The fae finally looked at Yuuri, brows raised. “He didn’t tell you?” At the shake of Yuuri’s head, the blond sighed and looked back up at the moon. “I guess he wouldn’t.”

When nothing else was said, Yuuri pressed. “Are _you_ going to tell me?”

“It’s not really my place,” the blond began, “but I think it’s probably important that you know.” He took a deep breath. “About a hundred years ago, Victor fell in love with a human.”

Yuuri’s brows shot up. Victor, with all his power and perfection, had fallen in love with a _human_?

“A stupid, lying, shit of a human,” the fae continued, “who took everything Victor had. His love, his magic, his home.”

“His magic?” Yuuri interrupted, shocked. “He took Victor’s magic?”

Yuri nodded. “Most of it. Victor used to be much more powerful. Used to rule the entire night sky and the moon and all the stars. He was infinite. And now—” Yuri gestured to the crumbling castle. “This.”

“I don’t understand,” Yuuri said. “How did he take Victor’s magic?”

“Hell if I know.” The fae’s voice was hard, angry. “What I do know is that Victor loved him. Still does, apparently. He says so often enough, but—” his hands clenched into fists. “I don’t know. He seems… confused.” He rounded on Yuuri, suddenly. Grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close. “I won’t pretend to understand why Victor would save your life, but he’s always been sympathetic to humans. And that’s why I’m telling you now—” he yanked Yuuri closer still “—help him.” He pushed Yuuri away then, and stood. “Free him. Whatever it takes, do it.”

“Hold on,” Yuuri scrambled to stand, even though he felt like the world was wobbling around him. He winced at the lingering pain in his leg and chest. “If Victor’s sick now—”

“The old man visited the night Victor saved your life,” blond Yuri said. He looked out over the courtyard, flapping his wings absently. “It was the first time in five years, so the damage was pretty damned bad this time. Worse than usual.”

“Where is this guy now?” Yuuri asked, feeling more than a little nauseated. “Where does he go?”

Other Yuri shrugged. “Who knows. Away. He’s got Victor’s powers and only the stars know what he’s been doing with them.”

Yuuri pressed his fingers to his temples. Victor was trapped here in this dying forest because he had fallen in love with a human man? And he’d been trapped here for a _hundred years_?

“Wait,” Yuuri’s eyes snapped open. “There’s a weird symbol on Victor’s back, could that mean anything?”

Yuri made a sound that might have been a growl. “How the hell should I know? Symbolic magic isn’t anything I’ve ever messed with. Oh!” Rummaging through the pouch at his side, the blond fae pulled out a small rectangular card and handed it to Yuuri. “I know someone who might be able to help, though.”

Yuuri took the card, turned it over in his hands. “Carabosse the… wicked fairy?” Yuuri read, raising a brow.

“He’s insane,” Yuri said, “but he knows what he’s doing.” The fae male scratched his head. “I think.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said, tucking the card safely in his pocket.

“I’m not doing any of this for you,” Yuri spat. With a flap of his wings he rose into the sky. “There’s one more thing. After Victor gets sick, he gets… mean. It’s part of the whole”—he waved his hand—” _thing_ he’s under.” He pointed at Yuuri, eyes blazing. “Fix this. Make your life worth something, human.”

And then he was gone, leaving Yuuri alone to process everything he had just learned.

How was Yuuri supposed to be able to free a trapped god? He was barely strong enough to heat up cold water, yet he was supposed to figure out how to unbind Victor from the forest and the strange man who had stolen his magic?

Yuuri turned and headed back into the castle, limping slightly from the pain in his leg, which seemed to come and go in waves without any sort of rhyme or reason. It was frustrating more than anything else. Yuuri missed music—he missed being able to move wholly and freely through it. He missed his parents—who he hadn’t seen in several years already—and he missed Phichit so badly it hurt. He hoped his friend was okay, wherever he was.

But he owed Victor, it was true. He owed him his life—twice now. He owed him his safety and his kindness and his home. Yuuri had already decided that he would spend the rest of his life trying to repay that kindness, so if that meant learning more about whatever strange magic Victor was under, he would do it.

Luckily he already had the perfect teacher for the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only person I have to look over this and check for inconsistencies is my mom, and she's not very good at it. She thought Yuuri and Yuri were the same person up until the end of this chapter (Which makes sense I GUESS coz she's never seen the show) 
> 
> Anyway I'm STRUGGLING but thanks so much for reading! The comments n support n knowledge that anyone is reading this at all makes it feel a lot more worthwhile


	6. Stand and Stare

“No Yuuri, not like that. You’re doing it all wrong.”

Yuuri sighed, and let his hands fall to his sides. “Can I take a break?”

Victor looked like he wanted to say no, but he nodded. They had been at it for nearly half an hour, standing at the large table in the small kitchen. Yet Yuuri hadn’t been able to produce a single flame to light the candle in front of him. Not even a flicker.

Determined to at least show _something_ for all this hard work, Yuuri picked up the candle and turned it around in his hands. It was a small thing—white and unscented. Victor had said before the lesson started that it was the best kind for practicing on. Simple, no distractions, a blank slate. And still, Yuuri was struggling.

This whole thing was likely pointless, Yuuri knew—his magic had always been weak. Victor wouldn’t hear of it, though, when Yuuri tried to explain it to him, so Yuuri resolved to try his best even though he knew he wouldn’t get very far.

“We shouldn’t have started with fire,” Victor mumbled. The god sat down on one of the chairs and crossed his arms, looking contemplative, then he looked at Yuuri and spoke up. “It’s one of the hardest elements to control for a beginner. But it shouldn’t be this hard for someone who has been practicing magic as long as you have.”

Yuuri said nothing, just wrapped his fingers around the candle and closed his eyes. Perhaps, if he tried hard enough, he could connect with the candle, feel its essence somehow.

He kept his eyes closed but he addressed Victor. “I told you, I _am_ a beginner. I don’t _have_ that much magic.”

“You’re not a beginner,” Victor snapped. “And that isn’t going to work, the candle has nothing to do with you.” Yuuri opened his eyes as the candle was snatched out of his hand. “It’s a conduit for the fire, not the other way around.” Victor placed the thing back on the table in front of them. “You need to connect with the element, not the thing it’s passing through.”

Yuuri furrowed his brows, wondering how on earth he was supposed to connect with something that wasn’t there, but he raised his hands again anyway, staring at the wick and willing it to light.

Nothing.

Yuuri clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes, concentrating harder. Where did fire come from, anyway? Heating up Victor’s bath water the night before had been doable because Yuuri understood what the end result was supposed to be. He knew what warmth felt like, and he knew what it felt like to be submerged in water, and putting both together at least made _sense._

But this was different. Yuuri had no idea what he was supposed to be feeling, and on top of that he was mildly afraid of being burned. Perhaps that worry was what was preventing him from being able to do this. Or perhaps, much more likely, it was simply Yuuri’s lack of magical ability.

“Let’s try something else,” Victor said, tapping his fingers impatiently on the counter in front of him, producing a subdued sound. He was wearing the gloves he had been wearing the night Yuuri had almost died. “Water is the easiest element to control, for most.” He pushed the candle to the side and moved a small bowl of water from the edge of the table to the center, then he looked at Yuuri. “Freeze it,” he demanded. “We already know you can change the temperature, so this shouldn’t be difficult.”

Victor’s tone was bordering on harsh, and Yuuri reminded himself not for the first time that day about the other Yuri’s warning. That Victor might get ‘mean’. (A warning that was almost comical considering the fae’s own sharp mouth.) But he hadn’t been wrong. Victor had been in a foul mood since the moment Yuuri had found him in the kitchen that morning, grumbling obscenities over a plate of burnt toast and bacon.

Yuuri’s gaze lingered on Victor’s for a moment before he turned to the bowl of water and placed the tips of his fingers in. The god’s eyes seemed to be a darker, stormier color than they had been the day before. It reminded him of that first night, when that clock chimed and Victor had told Yuuri to stay in bed—when it looked as if deep shadows were pushing to suffocate the soft blue of Victor’s eyes.

Yuuri shivered, feeling cold now that he knew where Victor had gone that night, now that he knew he had been under the same roof as someone he was quite sure he never wanted to meet.

From the corner of his eyes Yuuri saw Victor nod at the same time he felt that strange pull in his fingers, and he moved his hands from the water seconds before the whole thing became a solid block of ice.

“Good,” Victor said. “Now we’ll try air.”

But Yuuri could not produce even the smallest gust of wind, nor was he able to make any sort of magic with the pile of rocks Victor dropped in front of him. He couldn’t grow a sprout from a seed and he couldn’t make the earth move and he couldn’t manage to shift a couple grains of sand even the smallest distance. Fire wasn’t even mentioned again, for which Yuuri was grateful.

Victor’s frown deepened through all of Yuuri’s struggles, and his mood was so dark by the end of the morning that he was practically seething by the time he decided to end the lesson.

“That’s enough,” he said at last, when Yuuri could no longer even do anything with the water. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to teach you magic if you can’t even do the basics.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time,” Yuuri said, swallowing back frustrated tears. “I don’t _have magic_.”

“Of course you do!” Victor rounded on him. “Everyone ‘has’ magic. And _you_ ”—he took a step forward and pushed at Yuuri’s chest with a finger—” _you_ possess more magic than any human I’ve ever met.”

Yuuri stumbled backward. “V-Victor—”

“I can feel it,” Victor went on, oblivious to the pain that was spreading its way through Yuuri’s chest, hot and sharp. “There’s so much power inside you it should be _impossible_ for you to hold it in like this, so why are you holding back? Why can’t you do this?”

Yuuri took another step back, and now he was flat against the wall. Victor grabbed him by the arms. “Why can’t you do this, Yuuri?”

“I—I don’t—”

Those shadows were back in Victor’s eyes, storming and roiling and raging. “All that magic at your fingertips and you’re telling me you can’t do a damned thing with it? All that magic—” Victor cut himself off. He was breathing hard, chest heaving, so close over Yuuri that the dancer could see flecks of silver in the god’s irises. Looking up at that icy glare, even through the pain and the fear and confusion, Yuuri couldn’t help but wonder what Victor could possibly be talking about.

The storm passed, suddenly. Victor’s mind seemed to clear and he stepped back, releasing Yuuri while his expression melted from glittering anger into confusion and shock. He looked down at his hands as if he couldn’t believe what they had done—as if he could find an explanation somewhere within the fabric of those deep black gloves.

“Stars, Yuuri,” Victor muttered, clenching his hands into fists and turning his attention back to the dancer. “I’m so—I don’t know why I—” The god cut himself off again with a clipped curse, eyes wide, as Yuuri clutched his chest. “You’re bleeding again.”

Yuuri shook his head, stammering out that he was okay even as his knees buckled and he sank to the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking in big gulps of air and trying to make them even, consistent. He felt Victor’s hands on his back a moment later—gentle, comforting—and the pain subsided a little.

“Why does this keep _happening_?” Victor ground out through clenched teeth, even as his touch remained kind on Yuuri’s back. There was something strange about his voice, Yuuri thought. Like the words were caught somewhere inside his throat and it was a struggle to get them out. Yuuri opened his eyes as Victor took a steadying breath.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said evenly. “This isn’t directed at you, I’m just—” he removed his hand to press his fingers to his temple, as if he had a headache. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening.”

But Yuuri did. If the other Yuri were to be trusted, at least. Through the pain, he managed a sort of half smile in Victor’s direction. “I’d like to maybe soak in the bath, if that’s alright,” he said.

“Of course, Yuuri!” Victor exclaimed, eyes still more shadowed than Yuuri would have preferred. “You don’t have to ask permission. Let me help you up.”

Victor’s scent washed over Yuuri as the god shouldered his way under Yuuri’s arm in order to help him stand, and the pain left his chest completely, along with the blood staining his shirt. Yuuri suspected that if he had lifted up his shirt, he would have seen that the bandages had been changed as well, a sly touch of Victor’s magic. Together, they started for the bathing room.

It was strange, the way the smell of starlight didn’t cling to Victor now the way it had when Yuuri was dying. The god only smelled of that rose scented soap, and nothing more. Perhaps Yuuri had imagined it back then—the smell of starlight was hardly something that even made sense, and he could barely even recall the memory anymore. Even so, something about Victor seemed off as he helped Yuuri down the hall, and it wasn’t just his bad mood and his wild, terrifying temper.

“I can manage from here, I think,” Yuuri said as soon as they reached the door. Victor pulled back, his expression something between concern and anger.

“Are you sure?” the god said, and Yuuri nodded.

A towel appeared in Victor’s hands, along with that same delicate soap Yuuri had used on him the day before. He handed the things to Yuuri, who took them with a soft “thank you.”

“I’ll be in my office if you need me,” Victor said. “It’s the room directly to the left of yours.” He made to walk away, but paused. “If anything happens, call out to me,” he said, eyes sharp. “I won’t miss it this time, I promise.” The words and tone were angry, but Yuuri thought it was anger aimed internally, at Victor himself. So Yuuri just nodded, and watched Victor disappear behind the bend in the stone hall.

Pursing his lips, Yuuri opened the bathing room door only to place the things he held in his arms onto the floor, and then turn to leave.

It didn’t feel good, deceiving Victor like this. In fact, Yuuri’s stomach clenched itself into uncomfortable knots at the simple thought of Victor learning about this little plan Yuuri had hatched overnight, while the god had been asleep.

Pulling the card from his pocket, Yuuri flipped it over to the back, where an address was printed in smooth black ink: 178 Popovich Lane, Golden Hollows.

At first, Yuuri hadn’t known what any of it meant, but after a great deal of snooping through the castle he found what looked to be a map of the forest tucked inside a seldom-used drawer in the kitchen. Town names and roads were inked onto the paper with careful lines, as well as specific landmarks and scattered symbols Yuuri didn’t recognize. It had been a shock to learn that the forest was inhabited by creatures other than simple animals like deer and man-eating cats. There were actual towns, if the map was to be trusted. _People_ lived among the trees.

Yuuri hurried down the hallway and out of the castle, hoping Victor wouldn’t think to check up on him for a while. Originally, his plan had been to wait until nightfall and sneak out then, but he was glad a different excuse had provided itself in the end. He wasn’t sure he would have actually gone out at night—not when he knew there were things out there that would kill him in a second.

Walking felt good after so much time spent resting. Yuuri’s leg was doing much better than his chest—last night he had peeled off the bandage to find the teeth marks were almost completely gone. If Victor hadn’t been the one to heal the wound, Yuuri would have needed stitches. But Victor’s magic had far outdone anything modern medicine could do, and Yuuri wondered if there would even be a scar left over after it all healed.

It was only a mile’s walk to the forest town of Golden Hollows, and thankfully the weather was fantastic. Yuuri hummed tunelessly at the feeling of fresh air against his skin and wind whispering through leaves as he stepped off of Victor’s castle grounds altogether and into the thick copse of trees.

All at once he was hit with the familiarity of it all. The way the branches above him seemed to wave as if in welcome. How sunlight trickled in slow fragments toward the ground and rested there, blanketing the path Yuuri walked with soft gold and warmth.

This was silly. He had been in the forest only once before, and he had almost died then, too. After Victor had saved his life all those years ago Yuuri had been too afraid to set foot in the forest, let alone go near it. There was no reason for Yuuri to feel at home here.

And yet it seemed to want him there all the same.

Something rustled to Yuuri’s right, and a shape jumped out of the undergrowth. Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat, but it was only Makkachin, bounding toward him with her tongue lolling in what Yuuri assumed was glee. Yuuri leaned down and scratched the dog behind her ears, relieved. “Are you here to help me?”

Makkachin barked and licked Yuuri in the face. Laughing, he decided to take that as an affirmation, and they continued forward together.

Eventually, much to Yuuri’s relief, they reached the town.

It was a small town, full of small cottages all made with smooth stone and thatched roofs. A few fae folk wandered past him, none of them stopping to give him so much as a glance. Yuuri stepped through streets made of dirt and grass, noticing that almost every house had a garden directly outside, most of which were overflowing with bountiful amounts of flowers and vegetables.

There was nothing here that suggested that it belonged to a ‘wicked fairy’. This town seemed rather peaceful actually.

A red-haired fae woman stepped out of one of the houses, locking the front door behind her, and Yuuri rushed toward her before he could convince himself not to.

“Excuse me,” Yuuri said, tapping the woman’s shoulder. “I’m looking for Carabosse? The—uh—wicked fairy?”

The woman turned, auburn hair falling in waves to her shoulders, pink wings translucent and glittering in the afternoon sunlight. “Carabosse?” She tapped her chin, then her eyes brightened. “Ah, you must mean Georgi.” The woman stifled a giggle. “I can’t believe he’s still trying to get that name to stick.”

“Please, do you know where I can find him?” Yuuri pressed, wondering how much time he had before Victor decided to drop by the bathing room. “I need to ask him some questions about magic—”

An explosion rattled the trees from somewhere nearby, and Yuuri turned to see puffs of purple smoke drifting upward from just over the crest of a hill.

“That would be him,” the red-haired woman said, raising one eyebrow. “Good luck with that.”

Yuuri thanked her, then followed the plume of smoke to a small cottage on the very edge of town. The purple smoke was filtering out of the chimney, and Yuuri could hear someone making quite the racket inside. Curses and the clang of metal met Yuuri’s ears as he reached out a nervous hand to knock on the door.

The clanging stopped for a moment, then resumed at the same time someone yelled for Yuuri to “come in!”

Tentatively, Yuuri opened the door only to be assaulted by a thick cloud of smoke.

“Keep that door open,” a voice said from within the house, raised slightly in order to be heard over that awful clanging.

Yuuri pushed the door open all the way, allowing the smoke to disappear outside. He stepped into the cottage, coughing and letting his eyes adjust to the comparative darkness.

The clanging he had heard was coming from a multitude of pots and pans and various other dishes scrubbing themselves in the sink, then floating through the air to put themselves back where they belonged. In the corner, a pile of broken dishes was slowly rearranging itself back into it’s unbroken state.

“The explosion broke most of them,” a man’s voice said, and the man himself was quick to follow, appearing out of the shadows so suddenly that it caused Yuuri to jump, and Makka to bark sharply in alarm.

“Are you Carabosse?” Yuuri asked the man, taking in his glittering purple-sequined outfit, the dark purple makeup smudged dramatically over his eyelids, his blue lipstick and matching metallic wings. The man held an armload of plates Yuuri assumed he had just fixed. “I was told you might know something about symbolic magic…”

“Magic?” Carabosse gaped at Yuuri and dropped the plates to the ground with a crash. “A customer!”

With a snap and a mild squint of concentration from the man in front of him, the small cottage cleared of smoke completely, and all the dishes disappeared.

“I dabble in the dark arts,” Carabosse said, eyes shifting to the side. “Nothing too major.” He leaned in closer to Yuuri, expression intense enough that the dancer found himself leaning away. “What are you looking for, exactly? A charm? A spell?” His eyes lit up. “A curse?”

“No, no,” Yuuri answered quickly. “I just need some information.”

The man’s face fell, and his voice was filled with sorrow as he sighed: “I should have known. What is it you want to know?”

“Do you have a pen and some paper?” Yuuri asked.

Carabosse snapped his fingers again and the things Yuuri had asked for appeared right in front of him. He tried to redraw the symbol on Victor’s back as well as he remembered it, but he probably should have taken a longer look. Satisfied that he had gotten it mostly right, Yuuri handed the drawing to Carabosse, who looked at it with a frown. “Do you know what that means?”

“First of all,” Carabosse said, expression flat, “you should never draw magic symbols unless you plan on using them. It’s incredibly dangerous.” The paper was engulfed in flame, much to Yuuri’s surprise, then it was gone. “But yes, I think I can figure this out.”

The man strode over to a large black bookcase and skimmed his hand down the spines of several books until he found what he was looking for.

Carabosse blew a layer of dust off the book, then cracked it open. “What is this for, exactly?”

Yuuri hesitated before answering. “For a friend,” he said at last, wondering if he had yet earned the right to refer to Victor as such.

Carabosse just nodded, crossing the room to thrust the book in Yuuri’s face. “Is this right?”

Yuuri nodded at the illustration in the book. It was identical to the one marked on Victor’s skin. “What does it mean?”

“It’s some kind of binding spell,” the fairy muttered, squinting at the picture. “But this book is so old the words have faded a bit…”

“Could it be something that might, uh, take someone else’s magic away?”

“I don’t think anything like that exists,” Carabosse said offhandedly, and Yuuri deflated. It seemed this was going to be harder than he thought.

Still, Victor’s tattoo was binding him to something. Yuuri just had to figure out what that thing was. He wondered briefly if it was the god’s tether to the forest, but for some reason that didn’t feel quite right. Yuuri had no reason to trust his gut on things like this, things he did not understand. But still, it seemed like he was missing something.

“Ah. Here we go. This particular symbol is a general binding spell, and should be layered on top of a second symbol that represents the thing that the object is to be bound to.”

“So what I saw was one symbol on top of another,” Yuuri muttered to himself. He must not have remembered it perfectly, then.

“So it seems.” Carabosse shut the book and replaced it back on the shelf. “That’ll be ten.”

Yuuri blinked. “Ten what?”

“Ten acorns, of course,” the man said irritably.

“Acorns? Like, as in money?”

“What, you think I just freely give information away? I expect payment for my services.”

Yuuri sputtered, baffled. “I don’t have any money.” And Carabosse really hadn’t actually done much, anyway.

The fairy crossed his arms. “No acorns, no information.”

“But you’ve already given me the information.”

“I can take it back easily.”

“I—” Yuuri’s mind raced for some sort of solution. “I don’t have money, but—but Victor probably does.” Yuuri hadn’t wanted Victor to know what he was up to, but maybe there was no avoiding it now.

Carabosse let his arms fall to his sides. “Victor?” His nostrils flared. “A human man, staying at the castle with Victor—” Recognition lit up his face. “You’re Yuuri, aren’t you!”

Yuuri could feel his skin growing warm as he nodded. How did he know? Had blond Yuri been gossiping to the other fae in the forest? It didn’t seem much like him, but Yuuri supposed he hadn’t known him all that long.

“Forgive me!” Carabosse cried. “Anything for Victor is absolutely free, of course.”

“I—I really am sorry,” Yuuri stammered, backing away toward the door.

Carabosse grabbed both of Yuuri’s hands in his, and gave him an intense stare. “No, Yuuri. Never apologize for going to the ends of the earth for the one you love.”

“I—uh—never said—”

“You can never be too brash, too bold, too dramatic!” Carabosse wrenched one of his hands away and placed it over his heart. “Nothing is too much, if it’s done in the name of love!”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Yuuri said, inching nervously backward. “I should probably—”

“For it is the ones we love who give us strength!” Carabosse clasped both of his hands together as if in prayer, and glitter fell from the ceiling. Carabosse kept going, but Yuuri slipped out quietly, Makka on his heels. He could still hear the man crying out to nobody as he hurried away, and he thought he caught the words ‘curse’ and ‘true love’s kiss’ and ‘Anya.’

Yuuri didn’t stop moving until he was well out of the village, almost back to the castle grounds. Heart hammering from the brisk walk and the confusion at Carabosse’s outburst, Yuuri leaned against a tree trunk in order to get his bearings. The trip hadn’t entirely been a waste—he had learned two things at least. One, the symbol was binding Victor to something, and two, apparently it was common knowledge that a human man was staying in Victor’s castle.

Makkachin’s ears perked up and she bounded away, and Yuuri started walking again. Maybe he should just ask Victor about the symbol. It would have been faster than whatever Yuuri was doing now, but something held him back. Some feeling Yuuri didn’t understand, telling him he had better wait.

This whole situation was just so sad. Yuuri’s chest had been aching since the night before, and it wasn’t from the wound.

Throughout his life, Yuuri had often felt like he was fighting alone. A sort of disconnect from his family and his friends and his fellow dancers that ran deeper in Yuuri’s mind than it probably should have. He knew they were there, but it was a distant, muted feeling.

Victor, though… Did he have friends? Could a god possibly have a real family? The people in his forest seemed to know him, but…

Makka bounced back from wherever she had gone, circling around Yuuri in leaps that landed her at his feet, where she dropped a single daisy and barked sharply. Yuuri picked the flower up, twirled it between his fingers.

A sudden thought took hold of Yuuri’s mind, and he knelt down to speak directly to the dog. “Makka, do you know where Yuri lives?” Makkachin’s ears perked up, as if she recognized the name, and she turned around in a quick circle. “Can you take me to him?”

The dog let out another bark and ran off toward Victor’s castle, Yuuri following close behind.

 

* * *

 

Victor sat at his wide oak desk, feet propped up on top, and tried very hard not to scowl.

He hadn’t gotten a bit of work done—unfortunate, considering the mountain of paper that sat, untouched, next to his feet. He had given in to the urge to check on Yuuri after only a few minutes—his worry had gotten the best of him, made it hard to concentrate on his work. Not to mention the fact that Victor’s outburst this morning had him feeling like a wreck. But Yuuri hadn’t been in the bathing room where he’d left him. He hadn’t been anywhere in the castle, actually, as Victor’s frantic searching revealed.

Victor’s first, terribly painful thought was that Yuuri had left him, but that was impossible. The pendant around Victor’s neck still glowed a steady blue, pulsing with life. Yuuri was still somewhere in the forest, even if he wasn’t here in Victor’s castle.

He had sulked back to his office, tried to make at least a small amount of progress on something. But in the end he had just called Makka and asked her to go keep an eye on Yuuri, then busied himself with fixing up Yuuri’s bedroom a bit more before coming back to his office to wait. Yuuri was free to come and go as he pleased, but after everything that had happened, Victor wasn’t sure it was such a good idea for Yuuri to go traipsing off on his own like that.

After everything that had happened…

Frowning, Victor pulled the chain over his head so he could get a better look at the pendant. He held it gently, as if it were the most delicate thing in the world. And in a way, he supposed, it was.

He had never meant to save Yuuri’s life, it had just sort of…happened. Victor was never one to break the laws of nature on a regular basis, but when he held Yuuri in his arms, when those big brown eyes looked up at him, shining with something like awe or wonder, if felt like something inside Victor had finally clicked. Like something he had been trying to find for a thousand years was suddenly no longer lost.

And then Yuuri had said Victor smelled like starlight.

Pushing himself up from his chair, Victor went to look out the window. The sky was a clear, infinite blue; free of clouds and holding only a few scattered birds that wove in and out of the forest trees. Victor imagined that he could hear them calling out to one another, communicating through the wind in the way only birds could.

Victor hadn’t associated himself with starlight in a very, very long time.

A weary sort of uneasiness replaced Victor’s irrational anger, and he found his eyes traveling back to the pendant. His fingers tightened fractionally around it.

It was strange, holding someone’s soul in the palm of his hand. Strange, and a bit scary. Knowing one wrong move, one accidental slip of the hand could send it crashing to the floor and into a million splintered pieces.

At least, that’s what Victor assumed would happen. He wasn’t about to test the theory out. He wasn’t ready to lose Yuuri in such a permanent way, even if he wasn’t quite sure why he felt like that.

A knock sounded at Victor’s door, and he slipped the pendant back over his head and tucked it neatly under his shirt. “Come in,” he called, seating himself on top of his desk and crossing his arms.

Yuuri peeked his head into Victor’s office, and the rest of Victor’s anger melted into shame at that nervous fear in Yuuri’s eyes.

“Yuuri,” Victor started to apologize. “I’m sorry about the way I treated you, I shouldn’t have said anything I said this morning. I won’t make excuses for my behavior, it was completely unacceptable. I just hope you—”

“Um… Victor?” Yuuri interrupted, cutting Victor off mid-sentence. He stepped into the room, looking so flushed and anxious it had Victor stepping forward to make sure he wasn’t bleeding again.

“Yes, Yuuri, are you alright?”

Yuuri nodded, and Victor noticed his hands were hidden behind his back. His gaze wouldn’t meet Victor’s, but he addressed him anyhow. “I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through,” Yuuri said softly. “And I won’t fool myself into thinking I can fix it, but—” Yuuri met his eyes then, and the raw determination they held was something Victor hadn’t seen in a long time, from anybody. It made Victor take another involuntary step forward, toward the dancer whose eyes made him feel more confused, more alive than he had in hundreds of years.

Yuuri moved his arms from behind his back only to shove a large bouquet of daisies in Victor’s direction. “I want you to know I’m here. You have me,” Yuuri said, cheeks tinged with the most lovely shade of pink. “Whatever you need from me, it’s yours.”

Victor blinked. For the first time in his long life, he was at a loss for words. He took the flowers from Yuuri, swallowing down all the scattered thoughts he wasn’t sure how to voice, and smiled.

“Beautiful,” Victor said at last, looking at Yuuri over the bouquet in his hands. “I have something for you as well.”

Steering Yuuri toward his bedroom, Victor kept a firm hold on the flowers. He could have magicked them away to his room or to the kitchen or into a vase on his desk, but he didn’t. They were comforting, somehow, in a way he didn’t really understand.

“I feel horrible about this morning,” Victor said, pushing Yuuri’s door open. “This probably doesn’t make up for it, but you should at least be more comfortable.”

Victor watched Yuuri’s eyes widen and his mouth open slightly as he took in the changes Victor had made to his bedroom. He had replaced the old mattress with a softer, larger one, and had added a frame with a canopy draped in swaths of glittering blue and gold fabric. There was more furniture than before, too: a white lounger beneath the window (over which Victor had added deep blue curtains), a vanity with a mirror large enough for Yuuri to see his entire reflection, a nicer wardrobe in which to put his clothes.

But, unsurprisingly, Yuuri’s eyes and hands went straight for the planters Victor had hung on the walls.

“These are umie flowers,” Yuuri said, stroking one of the blue-spiked petals with a finger. “These only grow near the ocean, how on earth did you get them here?”

“They also grow on the very edge of my forest in a small town called Hasetsu.” Victor smiled at Yuuri. “I believe you’ve heard of it.”

Yuuri wiped at his eyes, but he was smiling too, and when he turned to speak Victor thought his smile—dazzling and brilliant and kind—could have rivaled the sun. “Thank you,” he said.

Tightening his hold on Yuuri’s daisies, Victor shook his head. “I should be thanking you, actually. And I think I know how.”

Victor had noticed how Yuuri tore through the books lying around the castle, and he was fairly sure the man was running out of options. He had been meaning to do this from the beginning, but between one thing and another it had completely slipped Victor’s mind.

“I’d like to show you my library,” Victor said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Victor's muddle of emotions in this chapter were brought to you in part by the song 'Stand and Stare' by Bob Bradley and Thomas Balmforth. I only mention this because it's a gorgeous piece of music and I think everyone should listen to it forever (If orchestral type music is your thing)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta-read by the amazing kidm, who is responsible for everything that doesn't sound awkward or weird. HUGE THANKS!!

It was a long walk to the library from Yuuri’s room. It seemed the castle was larger than he had previously thought—surprising, since he was under the impression that he had explored most of it when he first arrived. But Victor led him down a corridor he hadn’t noticed before, decorated with tapestries that were obviously once grand and beautiful but now hung in tatters on the walls.

Victor brought them to a stop as they approached a small door. “Alright,” he said. “Now close your eyes.”

Yuuri looked at the door in front of them. Surely it was too small to lead to anything worth closing his eyes over, but he obeyed just the same. He heard a latch click, the door creaking open, then Victor’s hand was on the small of his back, guiding him forward.

“Can I open them?” Yuuri asked.

“No, no. Not yet,” Victor said, and Yuuri could have sworn there was a smile in his voice.

Their footsteps echoed around them, and Yuuri raised his brows. The room must have been bigger than he thought. Victor’s touch was gone as soon as they were both through the door, but the feeling of the pressure of his hand remained even as he retreated. “Wait here,” he said.

There was the sound of quickened footsteps, curtains being swept aside. Surely no library was so magnificent that it warranted this kind of reveal, but then again the only library Yuuri had ever visited was the one in his hometown—a small thing with barely a hundred books. He supposed Victor’s library was probably slightly bigger.

“Can I open them now?” Yuuri said, voice betraying his curiosity.

“Alright, open them.”

Yuuri’s gasp was a loud, astonished sound as he whirled around, taking in the size of the room and the vast amount of books surrounding him. Shelves lined the floors and the walls, stretching upward to touch the ceiling. Light streamed in from the domed windows, illuminating the motes of dust that floated about the room like snow. Even though dust covered nearly every surface, even though some of the books were torn and the tapestries on the wall were frayed and the paint was chipping, the library might have been the most amazing thing Yuuri had ever seen. “This is—” huge, amazing, beyond his wildest dreams. “Not what I was expecting.”

The playful glint was back in Victor’s eyes, though it wasn’t quite as bright as before. “I’m not done, Yuuri.”

Victor raised his arms with a flourish and a wink in Yuuri’s direction, and the room transformed. Dust disappeared; peeling paint flattened itself back against the walls. What was torn and tattered began to mend—books, tapestries, paintings. The colors in the room seemed to brighten, to become more vivid as Yuuri watched, amazed.

If Yuuri thought the library was beautiful before, now it was spectacular.

“You like it, Yuuri?”

“It’s wonderful,” he replied, rather breathlessly. He wandered around, touching the spines of old books and feeling almost giddy—an emotion he hadn’t felt since his first successful performance as a dancer.

Victor’s grin was wide. “Then it’s yours.”

Yuuri sucked in a breath, and he whirled back on Victor. “You can’t mean that!”

“Of course I can,” the god huffed, feigning offense. “It’s yours, Yuuri. You can’t change my mind.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Yuuri made another sweep of the room with his eyes. “You don’t use it anymore?”

“On the contrary, I use it quite often,” Victor said. “We’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other, it seems. Assuming you allow me access to your library.” Victor put emphasis on the word your, and Yuuri’s heart fluttered.

“I’ve never owned so many things before,” he admitted, taking a book down from it’s perch on the shelf and cracking it open. It was part of his traveler’s lifestyle—or it had been, anyway. Owning many, many costumes, but not a whole lot of things that held any sort of sentimental value.

He could easily see himself getting lost in these tomes for hours upon hours.

“Victor!” he said, straightening as a thought hit him. “Are there many books on magic?”

“Of course,” Victor gestured in the direction of one of the platforms that stuck out from the wall. “Hundreds of them, I’m sure.”

Yuuri’s hands itched to pull down the books on magic, to read up on Victor’s problem until his eyes were too tired to keep open, but something stopped him, and he turned to Victor instead.

“Victor…” something had been troubling Yuuri for a while, especially now that he had seen Victor fix up the library, and so easily at that. “Why is so much of the castle falling apart if you can—” he gestured broadly at the library, at what Victor had just done.

“Fix things so easily?” Victor supplied, and Yuuri nodded.

Victor’s eyes became troubled. “It’s become exhausting, keeping the castle up. And pointless. It’s easier to just keep the rooms I use most in decent condition.” He shot a smile in Yuuri’s direction. “But now that you’re here, I thought my dusty library—or your library, rather—was in need of some fixing up.”

Yuuri’s heart squeezed happily at the mention of his library, but he ignored the feeling and asked: “How much of the castle is left standing?”

“Well there’s the library, the bathing room,” Victor counted off on his fingers. “Your room, mine, the kitchen, my office, the ballroom—”

“Ballroom?” Yuuri interrupted, the book he was holding nearly slipping from his hands. He placed it back on the shelf where it had come from.

Victor’s grin was wide, all traces of unease gone as if it had never been there. “I used to host these parties, Yuuri, you would have loved them. They were the grandest in a thousand miles, possibly even the world.”

Yuuri was sure Victor wasn’t exaggerating. “Show me?”

Victor held out his elbow and Yuuri laid his hand on it, eager.

They left the room, and he cast one last wistful look at the library before the door was shut behind him and Victor was guiding him forward. There would be plenty of time for him to visit later, Yuuri reasoned. It would still be standing tomorrow.

Victor showed him the dining hall—a large room with the longest table Yuuri had ever seen—and explained that it was left unused because he couldn’t justify eating there by himself. He kept it up just in case, he said. Just in case he ever had visitors.

“The rose garden is just outside that door,” Victor said as they continued down the hallway, pointing to a door in the back that Yuuri hadn’t been quite curious enough to try to open. “They haven’t bloomed in a few years, though. So there’s nothing to see there.”

They moved on. Yuuri stopped in front of an arched entryway, the stone of which seemed slightly darker than the rest of the castle. “What’s that way?”

“Nothing,” Victor said quickly, pushing him forward. “Never go that way, Yuuri, do you understand?”

Yuuri nodded, but curiosity had already started to pound in his head, even as they stopped in front of a pair of large double doors, decorated with ornate silver paint swirled in shining, graceful lines.

The doors opened—no doubt Victor had used his magic to do that—and Yuuri stepped in. It wasn’t nearly as grand or lavish as the library, although it was clear that it had been at one point. It was bigger, though. Bigger, and completely empty except for a piano in the far corner and a stack of surprisingly intact instruments in a pile next to it. A set of stairs led to a platform on the far wall that seemed to exist for the sole purpose of looking out over rest of the room.

“Those instruments are enchanted,” Victor said, voice echoing through the room as he walked to a set of wide glass doors—doors that led outside to some sort of balcony—and opened them up with magic as well. “You can use them, if you can figure out how.”

Yuuri bit his bottom lip at the thought of dancing again, at the thought of moving his body through music the way he wanted to. His wounds were healing nicely—it was only a matter of time before he could move freely like that, but if the music relied on magic…

“Why did you say all those things about me,” Yuuri blurted, emboldened by the gift of the library and Victor’s apparent return to high-spirits and the thought of music. “You know, having so much magic?”

“Because you do,” Victor said simply.

“But I don’t.” Yuuri protested. “I can’t do much of anything at all.”

“I can feel it, Yuuri.”

“But—”

Victor held up a silencing hand. “Let me explain something about magic.” The god walked a couple steps up the stairs, then waved a hand and the windows were suddenly cleared of dust, the curtains drawn to the side. “Magic is a skill that has to be practiced—nurtured. Like anything physical your body can do.” He looked pointedly at Yuuri. “Like dancing, for example. While some are born with a bit more natural talent than others, _nobody_ starts out being able to fully control magic, and everyone starts out with just a little.”

“Except you?” Yuuri guessed.

“That’s true.” Victor nodded. “But irrelevant.”

“But I don’t understand. I’ve never—I’ve never nurtured anything. I’ve never built anything up.”

“Oh, but you have,” Victor said, stepping down to walk around Yuuri as if he were some sort of animal on display. “And therein lies the mystery. I can feel it,” he said again, stopping in front of him. “I can hear it singing under your skin. The fact that you can’t recognize it worries me a bit.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought: “The last time we met, you didn’t have nearly so much power.”

“The last time we met? When I was six?” So Victor  _did_ remember saving him. There was that question answered, but...

Victor looked surprised for a moment before he regained his composure. “Of course. When you were six.” He narrowed his eyes, assessing. “You’re filled with potential, now.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Yuuri said, crossing his arms over his chest in a self-conscious way. “You’re telling me I’ve been building it up without noticing?”

“It seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“Then why can’t I _do_ anything?”

“Another thing about magic, Yuuri,” Victor continued, keeping his eyes locked on Yuuri’s as he brought his hands up and produced an small ball of flame between his palms. “ It’s only as strong as your belief in it.”

“But I do believe in magic. I mean, I can use it, a little.” It had never been a question in his mind about belief. Magic was a part of his life just as much as anyone else’s. More so now that he lived with an actual god.

“It isn’t the magic you have to believe in, it’s your ability to use it,” Victor said, clapping his hands together to dispel the fireball.

A laugh of incredulity escaped Yuuri’s mouth before he could stop it. “You’re telling me to believe in myself?” It was almost cruel, Yuuri thought. “But I’ve tried so hard to do it. For so long.” He had spent so many years _trying_ when the answer was so simple—and, at the same time, the one thing he might never be able to do.

“Effort and belief aren’t quite the same, unfortunately,” Victor said with a shrug. “Tell you what—make these instruments work for you, and you can use this room whenever you want.”

“But I don’t know how!”

There was a twinkle in Victor’s eye as he answered. “That’s where the hard work comes in.”

And Yuuri would work hard. He would work as hard as he could if it meant he could dance again. He wandered over to the instruments, picking each one up in turn. He didn’t feel any sort of magic coming from them, but of course he hadn’t really expected to in the first place.

Victor leaned down next to Yuuri, watching him. That odd blue pendant glowed underneath his shirt. “What is that thing you’re always wearing?” Yuuri asked.

“This?” Victor reached down and pulled the chain out and clutched the pendant in his hands delicately, as if he were afraid of breaking it. “I suppose you deserve to know. You might want to sit down.”

Yuuri sat down on the floor next to the piano.

“It should have been impossible to save you,” Victor said softly. “You were supposed to die. But I found a way. I—” He cut himself off, staring down at the pendant in his hand for a long moment before lifting his gaze back up to meet Yuuri’s. “This pendant holds your soul, Yuuri.”

“My soul?”

Victor nodded. “Tethering your soul to mine was the only way to save your life.”

Yuuri blinked down at the floor. Though the news was surprising and a little chilling, he didn’t fault Victor for what he had done—he was grateful to be alive, even if he still didn’t quite understand why Victor had saved him.

Moving his eyes to meet Victor’s, Yuuri took a deep breath before saying: “You remember saving me when I was a child.”

There, it was out. The thought that had been nipping at Yuuri’s mind for the last week, finally voiced. 

Victor’s eyes softened. “Of course I remember.” He looked back down at the pendant for a moment before fastening it back around his neck. “That’s actually what made me decide to save you.”

“Really?”

Victor nodded. “I wasn’t going to. I really _shouldn’t_ have, but…” Victor looked back up at the ceiling and thoughtfully pursed his lips. “You told me I smelled like starlight.”

Yuuri raised his brows. Had he said that? He couldn’t really remember. All he remembered was the feeling of Victor’s arms around him, the way he felt like he was floating through an endless sea of stars.

“You said the same thing when you were young,” Victor continued. “When you were a child, lost in the forest. You were cold and dying, and I picked you up, and you said the same thing.” Tucking the pendant back into his shirt, Victor smiled at Yuuri, but he thought it might have been a bit strange. “I hadn’t been at full magic in so long, I guess it just surprised me. That anyone would still be able to recognize that part of me.”

Unsure what to say, Yuuri glanced back at the blue light of the pendant, muted slightly under the thin fabric of Victor’s shirt. It’s pulse was steady, thrumming like a heartbeat.

“Are you upset?” Victor asked.

Yuuri met the god’s eyes, surprised. “How could I be upset? You saved my life.”

“I also trapped you here with me. Possibly forever.”

“I don’t mind being here,” he promised. “It’s—it’s nice.”

A small crease formed between Victor’s brows, but he didn’t say anything else.

Yuuri turned back to the instruments. Figuring it made the most sense to start small, he picked up some sort of tiny silver flute and blew into it, producing a shrill shrieking sound that echoed through the ballroom in the worst possible way. Yuuri grimaced, and Victor laughed.

It was a relief, hearing that laugh.

He stared at the flute, concentrating. He could do this. He could use magic and he could make music and he _would_ dance again. Besides, if he wanted to help Victor, learning to control his own magic seemed like a good first step.

At least now he knew it was possible.


	8. The Point of No Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta-read by the amazing kidm. THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

Yuuri spent a few hours in the ballroom for the next few days, but for all his hard work a single pluck of a violin string or the tap of a piano key was all he could produce.

He might have spent even more time trying to make the music work, but between magic lessons with Victor and furtive research sessions in the library, Yuuri was simply exhausted by the time he got to the ballroom. Still, he persisted until he could barely think straight, until he could barely keep his eyes open.

It didn’t help that the dynamic of Victor’s magic lessons was strange, now. The god seemed almost reluctant to scold him or to even point out what he was doing wrong, biting back any sort of criticism at Yuuri’s spirited but awkward attempts at magic. Saying things like, “Don’t worry, you’ll get it eventually. Don’t give up.” On top of that, Yuuri was hesitant to ask Victor to push him harder, unsure what, exactly, was going through the god’s head.

On the third day, Yuuri fell asleep with a flute cradled in his arms like a child, and he woke up disoriented and uncomfortable on the cold marble floor.

Rubbing his eyes, he sat up with a groan. His back was sore, his mouth dry. He had no idea what time it was. A quick glance out the windows told him that it was dark out—at least he hadn’t slept through the night. Feeling unbearably hot, he pushed open the balcony doors and stepped out into the cool night air.

The sky was clouded, as Yuuri found it usually was—he hadn’t seen the stars since that very first night. Tentative, he held his hand in front of him, palm facing toward the sky. He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly as he imagined the spot right at the center of his palm warming, pictured a point at which a fire might start, might spread slowly along the lines in his palm.

Nothing happened, but that wasn’t surprising. Yuuri kept his eyes on his palm, wondering how someone might bring out fire from their own skin. He thought about dancing, how sometimes it felt kind of like there were flames spreading through his veins, urging him to move. He thought about Victor, with his warm smile and his kind eyes. _Victor has a warm soul_ , he thought. _I’m sure he has no trouble starting fires._

Suddenly, a flicker. The smallest, _barest_ whisper of a flame sputtered to life from somewhere within his skin, and he closed his fingers with a yelp, cutting the flame off in surprise.

But he had done it. He had _done_ it!

Pushing down his surprise, Yuuri rushed through the ballroom and through the hall and toward the direction of Victor’s room.

“Victor,” he said, pushing open the god’s door. “You’ll never believe—”

Yuuri was met with an empty room, cold and dark. Stepping out, he glanced at the golden clock that ticked, always, steadily on the wall. Midnight.

Strange—Victor wasn’t in his room, then. Yuuri supposed he shouldn’t have barged in like that, anyway, but he had been so excited. Victor’s faith in Yuuri was paying off at last, it seemed.

Yuuri knocked on the bathing room door, but it was empty, too.

Feeling more dejected than he should have, Yuuri made to go back to his room. He doubted he would be able to fall asleep, but he knew it was worth trying. The sooner he fell asleep, he reasoned, the sooner he could get back to the ballroom.

But something caught his eye and he stopped short. That small door Victor had showed him before—the door that led to the rose garden.

Sure enough, Victor was out there, surrounded by dark-colored rosebuds. He sat on top of a tall, half broken pillar of stone—something that looked like it might have once been part of the castle’s foundation—knees brought to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs, staring at the clouds above him.

There was something off, Yuuri thought. Something in the slope of his brows, the curve of his frown as he stared at the clouded sky. Something like sadness, but more determined: a crease in the center of his forehead that seemed so familiar, because it was a frustration Yuuri knew well. Victor looked as if he was trying, and failing, to use magic. He looked like he was waiting for something to happen, like he was angry at the sky.

Yuuri suddenly felt like he was violating some sort of unspoken privacy between them, but he didn’t move. Victor’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he tipped his head back fully, lips parting just barely as the clouds let out several scattered drops of rain.

Yuuri wanted to call out, but he swallowed any words he might have said and took a step back. He was just a man; there wasn’t anything he could do for a god. And yet…

As he watched, several drops of rain landed on Victor’s face, rolling down his cheeks like tears. The god closed his eyes against the water and his shoulders tightened, the crease between his brows becoming more pronounced. Yuuri couldn’t help but notice that the rain didn’t reach him at all—that it fell only on Victor.

Standing there, watching a pain cross Victor’s face that he couldn’t even begin to understand, Yuuri decided he couldn’t take it anymore, and he stepped forward, smacking his foot on the stone as hard as he could so he wouldn’t be missed.

Victor’s eyes snapped open and his body jolted straight in surprise. He blinked several times before his eyes landed on Yuuri, wide and dazed and so, so blue. “Yuuri,” he said. “I didn’t see you.”

Yuuri’s mouth parted as he met Victor’s eyes, struck to the core by the god’s beauty. Victor belonged in the sky. It was evident in the way its deep velvet blue sat in such striking contrast to his silver hair, the way the wind brushed past him as if the sole purpose of its existence was to ruffle his hair just so, the way his skin seemed to glow faintly against the clouds—though perhaps that last part was just Yuuri’s imagination.

Looking at him, Yuuri wondered if he wasn’t a god at all, but an actual star.

Yuuri opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He hadn’t prepared anything to say, and that look in Victor’s eyes—that stunned confusion… He scrambled for the right words, but they eluded him. Nothing seemed good enough. What could he possibly say to make Victor smile again, to put the light back in his eyes?

“I—uh—I—” He held up his hand, palm facing the sky. “I made fire!”

Yuuri wanted to smack himself.

But Victor’s eyes sharpened, and he dropped off the ledge of the pillar to land in front of Yuuri. The god stared at his hand, taking it in his own and holding it as if it were delicate as glass, then he grinned, and Yuuri thought he might fall over.

Sure, he was always smiling, but this seemed different. This was a soft thing, mirroring the delicacy of the starlight that shone above them, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that had Yuuri’s heart thumping dangerously in his chest.

The pendant surged brighter under Victor’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“You managed to do it? Amazing, Yuuri.” His head cocked to the side, silver hair falling over one eye as he beamed. “Show me.”

Once again Yuuri had the urge to brush that starlight hair away from the god’s eyes—to uncover those sparkling windows of sky and take a real look. But instead he balled his hand into a fist and pulled it from Victor’s grasp, looking away.

“I—I don’t know how I did it,” he admitted. “It was probably just a fluke.”

Victor crossed his arms, but his smile remained. “You came all the way out here to tell me that you were _accidentally_ able to control the most difficult element?”

Yuuri swallowed, uncurling his fingers. Maybe it wasn’t a mistake, but he really wasn’t sure how he had done it before, let alone how he could do it again. But Victor was looking at him expectantly, so Yuuri closed his eyes and tried to remember what he had been thinking about earlier, what had caused the flicker.

He had been thinking about dancing, of course. How he would give anything to listen to music again. How frustrated he had been at his apparent inability to make those instruments work. How Victor could have made them work in seconds—how he probably would have made music more beautiful than anything Yuuri had ever heard or danced to before. How he wouldn’t have minded dancing to Victor’s music, possibly for hours—dancing for Victor—

The center of Yuuri’s palm grew hot, then a flame sparked to life. He cried out in surprise, but there was no pain—just a faint, warm tickling sensation.

But how…?

Yuuri looked at Victor, who was humming in a proud sort of way as he examined the fire in Yuuri’s hand. He noticed for the first time that his smile pulled his lips into a sort of half-heart shape, noticed just how long his pale lashes really were. He took in the god’s delighted expression at his progress—the way the flicker of the fire reflected in the blue of his irises made them appear to burn as well.

The flame in Yuuri’s hand swelled, blossomed from a spark to a candle’s flame. Victor’s eyes widened and Yuuri gaped at his palm, a strange feeling starting in his chest.

He kept his eyes fixed on the flame in front of him, watching it diminish as it struggled to live, watching it until it almost burned out altogether. Heart in his throat, he took a steadying breath before he looked back up at Victor, who was squinting at the dying fire with something like disappointment.

Yuuri traced the line of Victor’s jaw with his eyes, imagined how it would feel to trace the skin with his fingers instead, with his lips. Wondered how he might react—if he might lean into Yuuri’s touch. The flame in Yuuri’s palm roared up once more, now large enough to consume his entire hand, if he let it.

Oh, gods.  
  
Victor’s delight radiated from him like a tangible thing, but Yuuri suddenly didn’t want to be near it anymore.

He closed his fingers into a fist, cutting off the flame as abruptly as it had appeared. “I have to pee!” he declared, turning to flee back to the castle without allowing Victor a moment to react.

Back in his room, Yuuri slammed the door behind him and then leaned against it, clutching his chest as if he could force his heart to slow its beating.

What the hell was that?

There was a half-full glass of water on Yuuri’s nightstand table and he was desperately thirsty, but he didn’t reach for it. He kept his hands balled up against his chest instead, chewing at his lip.

It wasn’t that he was afraid—not exactly. It was just that he hadn’t realized—he had never thought—

He sucked in a quick breath and grabbed the water, downing it in a few large gulps before slamming the glass back onto the table, harder than he intended. Then he crawled into his bed and curled himself into a ball.

He suddenly missed Phichit more than anything in the entire world. He would know what to do. He would know exactly what to say to make Yuuri understand this strange mash of emotions pulsing through his brain. Yuuri had never been very good at sorting himself out, but Phichit had always been there. He had always understood.

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, angry at his tears, angry at the feelings he didn’t understand.

He kept his hands balled up tight against his chest as he begged sleep to take him.

 

* * *

 

Victor watched Yuuri leave with a souring feeling in his gut, hand still outstretched toward his retreating body.

He let his hand fall to his side, sighing. It was fairly obvious what was going on here.

A sharp bark alerted Victor to Makka’s presence, and he leaned down to pat her head. “Yuuri is afraid of me,” he said to the dog, tone soothing so as not to let her know anything was wrong. Makka barked anyway, and Victor sighed again. “You’re right,” he said, scratching the poodle’s belly as she rolled over on the ground. “I should never have lost my temper. He’s too gentle. He’s too—” Victor, cut himself off, biting his lip.

_Human_ , he was about to say. _Yuuri is too human._

A chilled breeze ruffled the god’s hair, bringing with it the smell of midnight and darkness—moonlight and stars. A smell he used to love more than anything in the world. A smell that used to mean adventures, that meant he was _alive_.

“Don’t be stupid,” Victor muttered to himself. “You _are_ alive.”

Makkachin barked, tongue lolling, and Victor laughed. “You always know just what to say, don’t you Makka?”

Still, Victor’s smile dimmed as he thought of Yuuri and his inability to control his own magic.

The man had so much potential, but something was keeping it from bursting through the way it should have been able to. Something was keeping it trapped inside.

Maybe it was Yuuri’s lack of faith in himself, but Victor wasn’t so sure. If he was able to build it up to such depths without any real training, then there was a part of him, at least, that believed he could do it. He momentarily toyed with the idea that it could be Yuuri’s near-death and the resulting soul-bond to Victor that had the human’s magic all out of whack, but he pushed the thought aside. Yuuri had said more than once that he had never been good at magic in his life.

Victor huffed out an exasperated breath, blowing his hair from his face and startling Makkachin back onto her feet.

There was a way to unlock Yuuri’s potential, Victor was sure of it. He just wasn’t sure how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah, sorry about the crazy hiatus! I'm hoping that will not happen again, fingers crossed. My schedule has been pretty much cemented so I think it will be easier to find time to write from now on. I hope you enjoy this chapter!!


	9. Moonlight Dance

Yuuri slept fitfully, in spurts that left him with nothing but half-remembered dreams of fire and starlight.

Awake for probably the hundredth time that night, he blinked visions of flame from his eyes as he stared at the sparkling fabric draped across the ceiling of his room. His head felt oddly full, like it was stuffed with cotton, and he was thirsty again. Turning his head to the side, he looked at the empty glass on the nightstand. There was no way he could summon water, was there? He had summoned fire—briefly—but he thought that actually bringing water into existence was a completely different type of magic. Water had to come from somewhere else—the fire had come from inside him.

Sitting up, Yuuri took the glass into his hands and marveled at how ridiculous that sounded. Still, it made sense. Fire wasn’t a tangible thing like water or earth. Fire was something that had to be created.

Yuuri took the glass to the kitchen, where he filled it up, downed the whole thing in seconds, then filled it again. His nerves were on edge, now, making him restless. He wanted to move.

His steps echoed in the quiet halls as he made his way back to the ballroom. He was met with a warm breeze from the balcony doors he had left open earlier, but it was welcome. The rest of the castle felt too cold, strangely suffocating.

Yuuri set the glass down on the floor and stretched, eyeing the instruments spread out in the corner. He would try at least one more time to make at least one of them work, but music or no, he was dancing tonight.

His halfhearted attempts in the general direction of the piano returned no results, but he wasn’t really surprised, and he didn’t really care at this point. Judging by the faint lightening of the sky through the doors, morning was approaching.

Yuuri had a flash of panic as he raised his arms from his sides. What if he couldn’t do this anymore either? What if his leg or his chest somehow hadn’t healed correctly? What if he was no good without the music to lead him?

He closed his eyes, shaking his head even as his heart continued to pound. He could do this. There were times when he had failed—many times, especially at the beginning of his career. He used to get so nervous when he performed that he lost the rhythm. But he never stopped moving. That was the only way to really get through anything, he thought—never stop moving.

He tilted his face toward the ceiling, staring at the painted stars that were dotted up there, and began to move.

 

* * *

 

 

Victor watched Yuuri as he danced, clutching the fabric of his shirt with one gloved hand and bracing himself against the wall with his other.

He had been halfway to sleep when something compelled him to get back up, dragged his feet from his own bedroom to where Yuuri now danced, gracing the air with his movements.

Despite the fact that there was no music, he still seemed to take up all the space in the room.

Victor had told Yuuri before that he could dance if he could make the music, but that only seemed cruel now. The way he was moving, the emotions he was conveying with nothing but the flow of his body—Yuuri deserved music.

Maybe it would seem like a trick, but Victor couldn’t bring himself to speak, to stop Yuuri’s performance. So he said nothing, just flicked his hand toward the piano, pulling out a melody he had heard once, a long time ago. It was one of his favorites. A sweet, soft thing, perfect for the movements Yuuri was already making.

Yuuri’s eyes snapped open mid-turn as the piano began to play, but he didn’t stop moving. His eyes locked on Victor’s for one eternal, split second—the god let out a soft breath of air, leaning himself more fully against the wall—before Yuuri completed his turn and had closed his eyes once again, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Victor smiled as well, slowly, as Yuuri matched the piano’s speed and dreamy melody effortlessly—lifting his arms to rise with the swell of the notes, folding toward the floor to match the fall of the music’s tide. Opening himself up to his audience of one without hesitation, without restraint.

No barriers.

In his prime, Victor had traveled the world. He had loved the arts—theater, opera, ballet. He had witnessed the top-tier performers of many generations firsthand, but nothing had ever struck him quite like the dancer in front of him.

Something in the way Yuuri moved reminded him of something—something that wasn’t exactly possible but existed all the same. A feeling of building up, but also of release—a feeling that was so _thoroughly_ familiar, but one that Victor was having trouble placing. It was an understanding deeper than he could really understand. He couldn’t help but stare openly as he stood there, watching the way the light of dawn filtered in through the open door and clung to Yuuri’s hair as if anything could possibly make him shine more than he already did by himself.

Then Yuuri flinched, almost imperceptibly, as he brought his injured leg down to the floor.

Victor cut off the music as abruptly as he started it, the notes echoing throughout the room all at once. Yuuri followed suit, slowing down his movements until he had stopped altogether. Mouth slightly open, blinking in a surprised sort of way, he looked to Victor.

“You didn’t have to stop,” he said.

Victor raised his brows. “Your injury may be mostly healed,” he said, “but even _my_ magic doesn’t work that fast.” The thought brought goosebumps sprawling along his skin. If Yuuri could dance like this so soon after a near-fatal injury, Victor couldn’t even imagine how he might dance at full strength. “You should rest.”

Yuuri looked like he wanted to complain, but he just nodded and bent to pick up a half-full glass of water from the floor. Then, still looking a bit dazed, he walked out to the balcony, leaning over the railing to gaze in the direction of the rising sun.

Victor followed him, unsure what else to do, but he was taken aback when he saw the way the man was smiling to himself. It made him look younger, made him look carefree and soft.

Yuuri licked his lips, and Victor couldn’t stop his eyes from being drawn to the movement. “You love it, don’t you?” he said.

Yuuri nodded emphatically, no clarification needed in regard to Victor’s question. “More than anything.”

Victor studied Yuuri closely as the sun crested the horizon. “Why?” he asked.

The question seemed to surprise him, and he met Victor’s eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s something about moving like that—I can’t describe it.”

Victor nodded, satisfied with the answer, but Yuuri wasn’t done speaking.

“I used to have panic attacks,” he went on, looking back toward the sky. “When I was younger. My dad thought it was something like PTSD from being lost in the forest back when I was a kid. But honestly, I think I was just born like this.” His eyes grew troubled, remembering. “When I was ten, a theater troupe came through our village. Phichit and I snuck out to watch them—” A small smile. “My parents were so worried. They wouldn’t let us out of their sight for weeks after that.” He shook his head. “Anyway, neither of us cared much for the acting—it was exaggerated and not particularly moving. But then the dancers came out.”

Victor could tell by the sparkle in Yuuri’s eye that he thought about this a lot, and he couldn’t help but smile, too.

“They were amazing,” Yuuri said softly. “After watching them, there was no way I couldn’t become a dancer. I had to do it. So Phichit and I joined the Yasuki troupe as soon as we came of age.”

Victor brightened. “The Yasuki! I used to watch them perform, back when—” Victor shook his head. “Yuuri, that’s amazing!” When Victor had last gone out nearly fifty years ago, he had watched them perform. They were a highly selective and prestigious group, so the fact that someone from Yuuri’s background had been accepted…

Yuuri waved him off, looking embarrassed. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Anyway, once I really got into performing, I didn’t have so much anxiety.” He let out a puff of air. “I mean, it took a while, but it helped. It keeps me grounded, I think.”

Victor cocked his head. The more he learned about Yuuri, the more interesting the man became.

“By the way, I’m sorry I ran away earlier,” Yuuri said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I got in a weird mood. What you did with the piano—that helped. My head feels clearer now.”

Victor smiled. “You don’t have to apologize, Yuuri. I’m glad I could help.”

Yuuri covered his mouth to stifle a yawn, and Victor rounded on him, holding up a disapproving finger. “Didn’t I say you should be resting?”

Yuuri lowered himself down to sit on the floor of the balcony, grinning. “I want to watch the sun come up,” he said.

There was something in the man’s smile that made Victor hold his tongue and sit down as well. From here, he could barely make out the rose garden and, beyond that, the road to Yuri’s house. The forest stood against the rising sun as a mass of darkness, wide and still and silent.

“So, you no longer have anxiety?” Victor asked, leaning his head against the wooden planks.

Yuuri yawned again. “I do,” he said. “But I can almost always work through it. Except—” Victor watched as Yuuri gripped the wooden beams, hard.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Yuuri said. “It’s just—” he bit his lip. “The last person I performed for was—he was intense.” He picked at the splintering wood absently. “I almost lost myself.”

“Intense?” Victor raised a brow, wondering what kind of person could be ‘intense’ enough to capture Yuuri’s concentration. “A panic attack?”

“Nothing like that,” Yuuri said. “It was _him,_ I think. He did something to me.” He shuddered. “When I looked at him, it was like I was made of stone.”

Victor frowned. “He performed magic on you?”

Yuuri nodded, yawning again. “I think so,” he said, closing his eyes as he rested his head on the thing.

“Didn’t anyone do anything? Did no one stop him?”

Yuuri smiled, but it was strained. “I don’t think anyone would defy their king just to placate the feelings of a stranger.”

Victor sat up straight, turning his body toward Yuuri fully. A king? Yuuri—humble and kind and currently hunched between the wood slats of the balcony half asleep—had been dancing for _kings_ before Victor had forced him to live here? The thought was surprising, though not unthinkable.

Yuuri didn’t have a presence that suggested he had done things like that; there was no air of pomp or cockiness at all. But Victor had seen him dance, had watched him communicate with the music in a way he had never seen before, and it was almost like… it was like—

“Like your body is making magic,” Victor mumbled, watching the way Yuuri’s dark lashes brushed against the tops of his cheeks. Watching him dance had reminded Victor of when he was younger—when he had full control of his powers and he could still move the clouds to reveal the stars and everything was magic.

Yuuri mumbled something in response, but it was impossible to understand. Victor pursed his lips, wrapping one arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. With a flick of his wrist, the two of them were back in Yuuri’s bedroom.

Victor settled Yuuri onto his bed, gently enough that he wouldn’t wake, then sat down on the floor, resting his head on the side of Yuuri’s mattress. He pulled off one of his gloves and placed his hand on the human’s leg, letting his healing magic work its way through muscle and skin. The wound really was almost healed completely, but it was always better to be safe. Furthermore, the faster Yuuri was completely fixed, the sooner Victor would be able to watch him dance at full strength.

Victor lifted his hand from Yuuri’s leg and placed it on his own forehead, the beginning of a headache forming behind his eyes. Taking his gaze off Yuuri, he let his eyes roam around the room. He had tried so hard to make it into something Yuuri wouldn’t mind retreating to, if he wanted. He had tried to give Yuuri a home in a place that would probably never truly feel like home to him.

Flowers, from Yuuri’s village. Colors, that couldn’t really come close to matching his shine, but then again, maybe nothing could. Furniture; curtains; a new coat of paint. He hoped it was enough.

Standing, Victor made to leave, but something made him look back. All the things he had given Yuuri—he knew they would never really be enough. But they were pieces of Yuuri’s life, pieces of the world that had shaped him into the man he was now. And Victor couldn’t help but think about his own room, empty and cold and small.

He clutched his head again, wondering if adding new furniture to his own room would make him feel less strange.

Shutting Yuuri’s door, he turned left, back toward the ballroom and the balcony. He didn’t want to go back to his own room just then, and he wasn’t particularly tired anymore. Images of Yuuri dancing swarmed his brain, and he thought he could use some fresh air.

Leaning over the railing in the direction of the rising sun, Victor could only think about how he could hardly wait to watch Yuuri dance again.

And he wasn’t sure why that scared him so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's smol dance part in this chapter was brought to you by the piece "Moonlight Dance" by Mrest (? I hope that's the right name ha) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	10. Sunder

“Yuuri, I want to watch you dance again.”

Yuuri blinked sleep from his eyes, turning over in bed to find Victor standing in his doorway. The god was just as stunning as ever, though just now there was something strange about the look in his eyes—something calculating. Still, with his broad shoulders and his blazing eyes, Victor had a presence that was made to fill up doorways.

It took a moment for the god’s words to register, then Yuuri was sitting upright. “You want— you want to watch me—” the words tumbled over each other, disorganized in his sleep-addled state.

Victor nodded, eyes sharp. “I have an idea.”

Victor left him to get dressed with a quick “meet me in the ballroom when you’re ready,” and Yuuri obliged, confused and nervous and, he had to admit, at least a little excited.

Victor was waiting for him, standing thoughtfully over a large tin bucket of water.

“We’re having magic lessons in here?” Yuuri asked, accepting the apple Victor handed him and taking a bite.

“I have an idea,” Victor said again. The wild grin on the god’s face wasn’t exactly reassuring, but Yuuri stepped up to the bucket anyway and took a breath.

“What’s your idea?”

“The way you danced last night,” he began, taking Yuuri by surprise. “It was—” he moved his hands, looking almost frustrated. “Hells, Yuuri, I can’t even describe it.”

Yuuri felt his face warm, and he looked down at his bare feet. “It was nothing,” he said. “I’m not usually so out of practice.”

“You—” Victor sputtered, blinking. “I can hardly imagine what you’re like ‘in’ practice,” he said, shaking his head. “But I’d like to find out soon.” At Victor’s wink, Yuuri’s blush deepened. “Anyway, watching you dance gave me an idea.” He pointed to the bucket of water. “I think we might be able to incorporate it into our lessons.”

Yuuri’s brows shot up. “Incorporate dancing?”

Victor nodded, excitement radiating from him like Makkachin with a new toy. “I was thinking—” he held out both hands, pulling the water from the bucket and into the air. He shifted his feet, and the water followed his movements like a serpent, slithering through the air and around his head until he finally coaxed it back into the bucket. He straightened, beaming at Yuuri. “—something like that?”

Yuuri pursed his lips to stifle the giggles that were bubbling in his chest. The idea was mildly ridiculous, and probably wouldn’t produce results much better than Yuuri was already achieving, but Victor’s face… he looked so _earnest_. He managed to keep a straight face long enough to ask: “But with dancing?”

Victor nodded again. “I thought we could incorporate similar movements. I’ve noticed how tense you are when we’ve worked on magic, but last night—last night was the first time I’ve watched you look so relaxed doing _anything_.”

“What if I can’t do it? Won’t the floor get wet?” Victor raised a brow, and Yuuri held up his hands. “Right, right. You’ll clean it up. Got it.”

To Yuuri’s surprise, the water responded to him quicker than it had before. He had almost no trouble connecting with the element, and moving his body as if he were going through a slow dance number actually _was_ making it easier to relax. Breathing through tension was something he had had to get used to over the years, but going through the familiar movements alongside the unfamiliar magic—it was working.

“You’ve worked with this element the most,” Victor piped in, watching Yuuri raise the water into the air. “It’s only natural that you’ve become accustomed to it.”

Still, Yuuri managed to splash more water onto the floor than he would have liked, and by the end of the lesson he was so frustrated he was barely managing to keep anything in the air.

“That’s enough for today, I think,” Victor said, snapping his fingers. The floor was dry in a second, the bucket of water vanished.

“I can keep going,” Yuuri argued, feeling useless. He _would_ get the hang of this. Eventually.

“Oh, I don’t intend to let you slack off, Yuuri,” Victor said with a wink. “We’re going to work on something else.”

The “something else” Victor was talking about was revealed when Yuuri found himself outside, staring at the collapsed stone pillars in the rose garden.

“We’re fixing up the castle?” Yuuri said, excited despite himself. It looked like he wouldn’t be learning any new magic today, but the thought of fixing up some of this rubble was making him itch to make progress. It was clear that the whole thing was once incredibly beautiful, and Yuuri couldn’t wait to restore it.

“I’ll do most of the work, but I can only handle a small bit at a time,” Victor said, handing Yuuri the same tin bucket he had just used in their lesson. “With your help I know things will go smoothly.”

Yuuri did not want to admit just how much that praise meant to him, so he busied himself with manual labor—setting stones, using small bits of magic here and there to make things faster. The whole thing would be a slow process, but Yuuri didn’t mind. The sun felt good on his skin and the wind felt welcome in his hair. And, at some point during his stay in the castle, Yuuri had realized that nothing was boring if Victor was by his side.

Later, after the sun had sunk past the horizon and clouds filled the sky, Victor excused himself, claiming he had work to do before the day was over, and Yuuri made his way to the library.

He had amassed quite a stack of books in the few days since he had started his research on Victor’s condition, but so far none of them even mentioned symbolic magic. It seemed to be a taboo topic, though it was something Yuuri had never even heard of before this whole ordeal. There had to be _something_ among these thousands of books, though. There had to be.

On a whim, Yuuri stood to search the library further, letting his feet move on their own and barely registering where he was going. His mind was on Victor as he ran his finger down the spine of a cloth-bound book at random. Even if he could figure out exactly what the symbol meant, there was no guarantee he would be able to do anything about it.

Absently, he pulled a book from the shelf and flipped through it. His magic was nowhere near strong enough to save a god, not yet anyway. There had to be others that were more qualified for something like this—people like the king of Sol, who radiated power wherever they went. Not Yuuri, who could barely keep his eyesight from blurring as he flipped through the book in his hands.

Something caught Yuuri’s eye and he paused, turning the pages of the book backward with a sharp intake of breath. He thought he had seen…

Yuuri stared at the dark lines inked onto the yellowed page, hardly daring to breathe. There it was, the very same symbol he had seen on Victor’s skin. At least, he was pretty sure. He turned the book sideways, frowning.

He brought the book back to the table he had been frequenting, shoving other books to the side so he could lay this one flat and get a good look. It wasn’t written in any language he recognized, which was disheartening and probably meant he would have to make another trip to see Carabosse…

Suddenly the library doors burst open, making Yuuri jump.

“Where’s Victor?” an angry voice shouted.

Yuuri turned, not surprised to see the blond Yuri striding toward him. “I assume he’s still in his office,” he said, wondering if he should ask the fae about the book. “He said he had work to do.”

“He isn’t,” the blond snapped. “I already checked.” His eyes caught on the strange book, and he stopped walking. “What the hell is that?”

Yuuri shifted his body so Yuri could have a better view of the page. “That symbol on Victor’s back?” he said. “I think this is it.” Yuri didn’t reply, so he went on: “I mean, I guess there are two symbols, but I can’t quite remember—”

“Are you sure?” the fae interrupted. He looked a bit pale. “Are you sure it’s the same symbol?”

“I think so,” Yuuri said, scratching his head. “But I’d have to take another look. Why?” Yuuri sat up straighter. “Can you read this?”

The fae was frowning, shaking his head. “I knew that bastard had done something to Victor, but I didn’t even think this was possible.”

“What?” Yuuri said, feeling his chest constrict. “What did he do?”

Yuri thrust a finger at the book. “’Heart-binding,’” he read. “It’s a rough translation, but it’s pretty clear what it means.”

Yuuri felt his skin turn to ice, and suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room. “Heart binding,” he whispered, praying his assumptions were wrong. “Like a love spell?”

The fae youth ran his fingers through his hair, cursing. That was all the confirmation Yuuri needed.

“It can be reversed, right?” he asked. “Or destroyed?”

“Probably, but not by someone like you,” the blond ground out between his teeth, eyes darting back and forth as he read the rest of the text. “I didn’t realize how powerful this shit is.”

“We can fix it,” Yuuri said, wondering if he could make himself believe it if he said it out loud. “We can fix it.”

But Yuuri’s heart felt heavy. Even if he could find a way to reverse the whole thing, he didn’t want to be the one to tell Victor that he was under a spell, that his love was an illusion. It seemed cruel, especially if Victor didn’t see it that way.

Love was strange; love was delicate. Yuuri assumed, anyway, never having been in love personally. But he had been around enough love to know that it was complicated, at least. And despite the mark on Victor’s back, his feelings could be all too real, and Yuuri wasn’t sure it was his place to take that away.

The chasm in Yuuri’s chest deepened at the thought. It wasn’t his place to care, but he did. It wasn’t his place to feel so much heartache, but here he was, bitterly wishing for an easy fix to all of this. Wishing Victor had never fallen in love with someone like that. Wishing, wildly, for just a moment, that Victor’s love had instead fallen on a different human—one with terrible eyesight and a passion for dancing…

He shut the thoughts down, clenching his teeth. He was a mess. Victor was a _god_ , and Yuuri could barely perform the most basic acts of magic, nevermind even being close to the level at which Victor deserved. There was no way in hell Yuuri could reach those heights, not when it came to magic. Not when it came to anything. The god deserved an equal, and that was something Yuuri would never be.

The blond fae interrupted Yuuri’s racing thoughts with the smack of his hands down on the table. “I don’t care if it’s impossible,” he said. “We’re going to fix this.”

“How?” Yuuri asked. “What can I possibly do about it?”

The blond’s gaze was like fire when he looked at Yuuri. “First of all, you need to take another look at the symbol on Victor’s back. Make absolute sure it’s the same as this.” He jabbed the book once again with his pointer finger. “The rest can come later.”

Yuuri nodded, but his chest still ached. “I’ll do my best,” he said.

Whatever good that would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me, and thanks for reading!!


	11. Bouquet de Lumiere

Two weeks passed, and the two of them fell into a rhythm. Magic lessons in the morning—always incorporating Yuuri’s dancing in some way, though never quite reaching it—lunch outside in the summer air, evenings in which Victor would vanish into his office to take care of whatever it was he did—Yuuri still wasn’t completely sure—and Yuuri would steal away to the library for research. Then, nights of dancing alone in the ballroom. After that first time, Victor never showed up again. Yuuri wondered if he should be offended, but somehow he wasn’t. In fact, he was practicing harder and harder each day in the hopes that he would get to dance for Victor again soon.

Yuri was there sometimes, too. Usually yelling, sometimes helping with the castle repairs. Often pulling Yuuri to the side to ask if he had made any progress on the Victor situation, to which Yuuri always answered no, he wasn’t sure how to get a good look at the tattoo. He wasn’t sure, exactly, how to go about asking Victor to take his shirt off in a way that seemed natural. He would get to it, he promised. He would figure it out.

Even with the fae youth around from time to time, it was a quieter life than Yuuri was used to. He missed the traveling, the performing. Part of him even missed the brightly ridiculous clothes Phichit would convince him to wear for shows—clothes that somehow made him feel both confident and foolish at the same time.

Their pleasant routine lasted until one late summer day, when something finally shifted.

The repairs on the castle were going slower than Yuuri had anticipated. His magic wasn’t improving quite as fast as he would have liked it to. Sure, he could do way more than he could when he first arrived, but when Victor told him that he had already build up a hefty amount of magic, Yuuri had been sure he would get better fast. But something was still holding him back.

The sun was out and blinding the day Yuuri decided to dance for Victor again.

He set up a chair in the rose garden, on the edge of the freshly fixed-up stone area, and Victor took a seat politely. Upon Yuuri’s request, the god magicked the enchanted piano outside, although it was Yuuri who would be making it play today.

He had been practicing.

To the god’s delight, the roses had finally begun to bloom somewhere around the time Yuuri had first danced, although it was happening remarkably slowly; the buds had swollen to various sizes but the petals had yet to unfurl. Still, the flowers were beautiful even like this, and Yuuri thought the midst of those roses would be the perfect stage for his performance. Most of the flowers were red, but many were pink or white or even blue—most, in fact, were blue. Yuuri could only imagine how stunning the garden would be if they ever fully bloomed.

Yuuri stood in the center of the roses and took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers and attempting to relax his shoulders. He knew it was stupid to be so nervous, especially since it was his idea to do this in the first place, so he pushed the feeling down. He imagined his anxiety pouring out of him through his feet and down into the ground, well below the roses and the castle and the stone.

When he opened his eyes Victor was grinning, and Yuuri was no longer afraid.

 

* * *

 

The piano began to play—a quick, airy melody that reminded Victor of sunflowers and soft grass; striped blankets and picnics by the sea; white clouds that hang so low in the sky it feels as if you might reach out and touch them. It reminded him of the most playful part of the night—the part that pushes the clouds to the side and fills itself with millions of glittering stars.

If Victor had been impressed with Yuuri’s performance in the ballroom all those weeks ago, this was on a whole different level.

And it wasn’t just _how_ Yuuri moved, but _why_.

Even the tiniest shift—the twitch of a finger or the soft incline of his neck, the angle of his jaw or the subtle change in posture. It meant something. All of it. It was a story, unfolding in front of Victor like a half-remembered dream.

It was the story of a boy, lost in the forest but certainly not scared. A boy, wide-eyed and dark-haired, who put his life in the hands of a silver-haired stranger.

It was the story of a man with a heart made of sunlight, who performed for kings and who performed for himself simply because he loved it, simply because he couldn’t fathom a life without that music. A man who performed, now, for Victor—a performance that was made for the god the same way the sun was made for the moon and the stars were made for the sky.

Victor felt his skin grow warm. He felt the air between him and the dancer shiver and glow, some form of delicate lighting created in the wake of Yuuri’s storm. The god reached up, slowly, to touch the pendant hanging round his neck. It was warm, too.

Being so wrapped up in watching Yuuri move, Victor didn’t notice, at first, the way the flowers trembled around them. He didn’t notice the petals swelling, dew dropping from them like the flowers couldn’t help but cry at the way Yuuri was moving. He didn’t notice the tension in the leaves, the way they shook and shivered. But when the first rose burst into bloom the god’s eyes were drawn toward the movement immediately.

As he watched, another flower burst open, and another. The garden was painted to life, slowly, with every move Yuuri made; an abundance of brightly colored petals opening to the sun. They filled the spaces that had been empty before, petals overlapping petals until the colors blended and pressed together like a multitude of rainbows. They twisted and grew to heights which the god had never before seen his roses grow. 

His eyes widened. This was it.

This was Yuuri’s magic.

He fixed his eyes on Yuuri, heart thudding. If he had been a younger man he might have cried, but he held himself together. The dancer’s eyes were closed, and it was clear he had no idea what was going on around him. He was following the music at the same time that the music was following him; he spun, dipped, turned, never missing a step—never missing a beat. Each fall of his feet on the ground was like a punctuation of the beat of Victor’s heart; every arc his arms made in the air seemed like a gesture meant solely to take Victor’s breath away.

And all around them, the roses bloomed.

Then Yuuri’s eyes opened—deep, rich, lovely brown meeting Victor’s icy blue—and it was like something inside of Victor cracked. Something that had been frozen for a long time. His hand tightened on the pendant.

Yuuri’s movements slowed along with the piano’s melody until both had stopped altogether, and he ended his dance with both hands over his heart, eyes still locked on Victor’s. He was breathing hard, and his cheeks were pink. Something passed between them, some sort of electricity that neither of them quite understood, and Yuuri was the first to look away.

The dancer’s brows rose when he took in the garden. “You made the flowers grow,” he said.

A slow smile, edged with disbelief, spread across Victor’s face. “I didn’t.”

“What?” Yuuri looked around, adorably confused, and it finally registered to Victor that Yuuri _didn’t realize_. He had no idea how capable he was.

“Do you really not know,” Victor said, standing, “how amazing you are?” He took both of Yuuri’s hands in his.

Yuuri’s eyes widened fractionally, and his cheeks flushed darker at the close proximity of the god’s body. “You’re telling me I did this?” he asked, sweeping his gaze over the flowers once again before finally meeting Victor’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

A small laugh escaped Victor’s mouth and he suddenly wanted to pull Yuuri closer. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and smile into his dark hair, nestle his nose into his neck and hold on to him for hours and hours. Instead, he released his hands and took a step back.

“I can’t go easy on you in our lessons anymore,” the god said, still smiling down at Yuuri. It seemed he was unable to stop. “Now that we know you can do things like this.”

Yuuri frowned, and at first Victor thought he had said something wrong. But then the dancer looked up at him with blazing determination in his eyes. “Victor,” he said. “Is there somewhere we can go swimming?”

Victor blinked. Swimming?

“Well, there’s the river,” he said, scratching his head.

“That’s perfect!” Yuuri shouted, grinning. “I’ll find something to wear.”

The man practically sprinted from the garden without another word, excitement shining from him as bright as the sun.

The god watched him leave, chuckling quietly to himself. The blue pendant remained warm against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's dance was brought to you by the song "Bouquet de Lumiere" by Tomoya Naka, which is one of my all time favorite piano pieces! 
> 
> Thank you for reading ヽ(o♡o)/


	12. Bound

Yuuri’s heart was still racing by the time he returned to his room.

He practically dove for his chest filled with clothes, rifling through it until he found something he could conceivably swim in.

He had to admit, he was still riding the high of his performance for Victor and the way the god’s eyes had sparkled when he looked at him, as if Yuuri had done something amazing. He glanced out the window for a brief moment before resuming his search and pulling out a pair of pajama pants. He bit his lip. This would have to do, he supposed.

“Why the sudden interest in swimming, Yuuri?”

With a jolt and a curse, Yuuri dropped the pair of pants he had been holding and looked to Victor, who had apparently magicked himself into his doorway and was now leaning against the wall, smiling at Yuuri in a crooked sort of way that was doing funny things to his heartbeat.

“I—it—it’s warm out and—uh—” Yuuri swallowed, as if that might help him get ahold of himself.

Victor’s laugh was rich, and it brought to mind thoughts of stars and midnight breezes. Yuuri shivered. “Don’t get me wrong,” the god said. “I think it’s a fantastic idea.” He cocked his head, watching as Yuuri bent to pick up the clothes he’d dropped. “It’ll get cold soon, so this might be our only chance.”

There was something in the god’s eyes Yuuri didn’t understand, so he bit his tongue and tucked the pants into his arm before walking past Victor and into the hallway. After a moment, Victor followed him, and Yuuri thought he could hear him chuckling softly to himself.

The walk to the river was surprisingly awkward, even with Makkachin running through the trees around them, and Yuuri was losing his resolve by the minute. Maybe they should turn back, he thought. This whole thing was stupid, who knew if he would even be able to get a glimpse of Victor’s mark?

Yuuri made a fist. A sour feeling was starting in his stomach, but he had no idea where it was coming from. He had been in the castle for a good chunk of time, and he and Victor had been getting along fine— _more_ than fine, honestly. So why was Yuuri feeling this way? What had changed?

“I didn’t get to tell you properly,” Victor said, falling into step beside him. “But your dance was amazing. Truly.” Yuuri looked at him, finally, but the god was staring straight ahead as they walked. “I wanted to cry.”

Yuuri raised his brows, huffing out a laugh. That couldn’t be true, could it? “It couldn’t have been that good,” he said. “I’m still so out of practice.”

Victor’s eyes snapped toward him, and he stopped walking, lifting an arm to rest on Yuuri’s shoulder, urging him to stop, too. “Don’t say things like that,” he said. His gaze was surprisingly cold, even as his hand was warm and steady. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, and I don’t know where you get off thinking so little of yourself.”

“V—Victor?” Yuuri sputtered. The god’s intensity was surprising, as well as that cold look in his eye that passed almost as soon as it arrived, making way for warmth once again as Victor released his arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking away. “Let’s keep going, the river’s just up ahead.”

Yuuri stared after him for a moment before following, noticing the tic in the god’s jaw that was the telltale sign he was clenching his teeth.

What a strange reaction.

They heard the river before they saw it—a great, rushing sound that greeted them with its full force upon arrival. Mid-afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees, sending sparkles reflecting on the water and warmth sinking into Yuuri’s skin. Victor led him to a small cliff where the water seemed especially deep, perfect for diving.

“It’s beautiful,” Yuuri said, following the curve of the river with his eyes until it disappeared into the trees. His nerves were buzzing, suddenly. He hadn’t gone swimming in a long time, and he was more than eager even despite the looming worry about Victor’s mark. He kicked off his shoes, stretching his toes in the soft grass, grounding himself in the dirt. “The current is awfully fast, though,” he said, turning back to Victor while at the same time pulling his shirt over his head. “I’m not sure how we’re supposed to—” His words were cut off with a choke as he turned around, and he dropped his shirt to the ground. "V-Victor? What are you doing?" he squeaked.

The last thing he'd expected to see was the god removing his trousers.

Victor smiled lopsidedly, carefully folding his clothes and setting them aside. "I thought we were going swimming." He said, the perfect picture of innocence. But the twitch of a brow and the twinkle in his eyes betrayed clear amusement at the wild blush that was creeping up Yuuri's neck. "When was the last time you went swimming clothed?"

Yuuri felt his eyes moving of their own volition. It was like he had no control of his movements as his gaze trailed down Victor's body. His alabaster skin seemed to radiate starlight, from his slender neck, to his sculpted chest, to his—

Yuuri shut down the thoughts before they could get him into trouble, spinning to face the water. He considered swimming clothed anyway—partially to keep some sort of semblance of modesty; partially because there was a part of him that wanted to be a bit defiant, a part of him that wanted to see genuine surprise flicker across the god’s face like moonlight escaping on a cloudy night. Yuuri wasn’t sure where the sentiment came from, exactly. But there was something to be said about being able to surprise someone who had been alive for so long—someone who had seen and lived through so much.

But, Yuuri might admit, there was a part of him that didn’t _quite_ mind fully stripping down in front of Victor.

He dropped his pants and dove into the water before he had time to really think about what that might mean.

He stayed underwater as long as his lungs would allow. He felt the current slow around him until it was barely moving—Victor’s magic at work. When he was so deprived of oxygen he could no longer think, he finally shot out of the water, inhaling the warm summer air until his lungs were full and his cheeks were flushed and and he was struck, deeply, with the feeling of being _alive_. He was suddenly hyper-aware of his heartbeat, of the way his lungs filled, emptied, filled again. He was aware of the strength in his muscles and in his bones. He wondered if Victor had done something to the pendant to make Yuuri feel this way, but when he looked over the god was still standing on the bank with his arms crossed, grinning.

It was amazing, really. He had avoided thinking about it too much, but if Victor hadn’t been there that night all those weeks ago, Yuuri would be dead right now. He wouldn’t be here, in the presence of Victor’s heartbreaking beauty, smiling back at him without restraint, somehow, barriers be damned.

“Are you going to get in?” he called, making an attempt to stifle the smile that wouldn’t leave his face. He was grinning like a fool, he knew. But the matching expression he received was making his heart flutter and his skin flush and his head spin, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop.

“In a minute,” Victor said, settling himself down on the grass and propping his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. “I think I’ll just watch for now.”

At his wink, Yuuri dove back down under the water. He was a bit disappointed that Victor wasn’t going to join him right away, but it felt so good to _move_. Water was freeing, somehow. It allowed the body to move in ways it couldn’t on land. Faster, smoother, shifting without the limitations of weight. Yuuri wondered if this was the closest a human could get to flying.

He loved water, but there was something he loved more: ice. Some of his fondest memories centered around the winter festival his small village held each year, when the pond in the center of town was frozen near solid and the children would skate across its length on shoes made with metal blades on the bottom. He hadn’t been home in so long, and the ice was meant as a novelty for the children, but ever since he was young Yuuri had wondered what it would be like to dance across the frozen water. He imagined it would be breathtaking in a way nothing else was.

After a while Yuuri emerged from the water, a tad less dramatically this time, and let himself float on his back, staring up at the tops of the trees. Cicadas buzzed from the branches, desperate to be heard even as their small bodies blended in with the bark. He glanced back at Victor with the intention of asking, again, if he planned to join. But instead Yuuri found the words disappearing as he looked upon the god, sitting cross-legged in a patch of sunlight. He was scribbling in a small black notebook Yuuri had seen around the castle before but had never had the nerve to open. It seemed his instincts had led him well on that front—it was clearly something private.

“What are you doing?” he called.

Victor’s smile was conspiratorial, as if he had a secret he was sharing with himself. “Just trying to capture the moment.”

Yuuri felt his skin grow warm against the cool current, and he kicked his legs behind him. “Are you sketching me?”

The god laughed. “I wish I had been blessed with a talent like that, but no, unfortunately, I’m not.”

Yuuri moved to float again on his back, squinting in the light of the sun, and let himself float lazily in Victor’s direction. “Then what are you doing?”

It was Victor’s turn to blush, just a little, the tips of his ears and the highest points of his cheekbones turning red. “I’m writing.”

Yuuri floated ever closer, interest piqued now. “Like, journaling?”

Judging by the god’s deepening flush, Yuuri knew that wasn’t it.

Victor scratched the back of his head, and for a moment Yuuri thought he might not answer, but then he took a breath and said: “poetry, actually.” At Yuuri’s splash of surprise and raised brows, he added, quickly: “None of it is very good, I assure you.”

But Yuuri was already swimming toward him, too curious, for the moment, to care about how exposed they both were. “Can I read it?”

Victor hesitated, holding the book half-closed in front of him. Slightly desperate, Yuuri adopted his best puppy-dog expression, attempting to emulate the way Makkachin’s eyes widened and sparkled when she was begging. Victor’s eyes widened as well, and he turned more fully toward Yuuri, particular parts shielded—thankfully—by the grass and the angle of the cliff. His movements were fast, clumsier than Yuuri had ever seen, and the god fumbled, dropping the book right into the river below.

Yuuri watched the notebook go under, horrified. “Oh, gods, I’m so sorry!” He felt around with his toes, prepared to dive down. “Maybe I can—”

“There’s no need,” Victor said, chuckling lightly. He snapped his fingers, and the book appeared back in his hand, dry as ever.

Yuuri let out a relieved breath, placing a hand to his chest.

“Fine,” Victor said, much to his surprise. “You can read it. But I meant it when I said I wasn’t very good.”

Yuuri found the book, suddenly, in his own hands, and he scrambled to get to dry land before it found itself submerged in water once again. He kicked his way to cliffside, keeping one arm carefully in the air before finally pulling himself up to sit next to Victor.

His heart sped up when he saw the title: his own name, scrawled in simple, elegant handwriting.

He bit his lip to keep his expression neutral, and read.

  
He doesn’t move through the water;  
it parts for him because it knows  
it would be futile to try to stop  
the way he moves.  
It breathes around him instead,  
caresses his body, I imagine, like silk.

His face is warm, I imagine, and beneath  
his skin are the summer roses he’s brought  
to bloom, to burst. He looks at the sky  
like he’s never really seen it before  
and I wonder if he knows his mouth  
parts when he smiles and I wonder if he  
can feel the magic I can see—magic  
that rises from his body like embers.

It’s easy to imagine him, a forever  
fire, taking his leave from the earth  
to fit into the night—a burning star.

  
Yuuri read the poem twice; he read that last line four times. He couldn’t believe this was what Victor had been thinking about when he watched him swim. It was lovely—and it certainly painted Yuuri in a much more flattering light than he thought he deserved. But there was something—something about the way it was phrased: “taking his leave.”

He looked back up at Victor, noting the crease between his brows, how he was wincing slightly as if he wasn’t sure how Yuuri would react.

“Holy shit,” was all he said, letting his eyes drop to roam over the words once again. He wanted to take in Victor’s handwriting—the way his i’s were dotted with lines as if he couldn’t get the words on the page fast enough. The way the letters looped around and connected to each other in a cursive that was sloppier the farther it got down the page.

Victor grimaced. “Is that a good ‘holy shit’ or a bad ‘holy shit’?”

Yuuri grinned, still floating on the shock that Victor wrote poetry, that he had written a poem about _him_. “Good. Definitely good.” He made to turn the page. “Is there more?” But the book vanished from his hands, and he looked up to find Victor’s face slightly red again.

“I think that’s enough for today,” he said.

Yuuri’s mouth parted; he shut it quickly. His smile, it seemed, really would not leave his face this time. “I never would have expected you to write poetry.”

The god huffed out a breath, channeling his gaze on the treetops above them. “It’s something I’ve always done. I’ve always loved words. Although”—he looked thoughtful, and Yuuri found himself admiring his profile from such a flattering angle, nearly silhouetted against the light filtering through the trees—”I’ve found what ends up on the page is rarely quite as real as what I’ve meant to say.”

Yuuri raised a brow. “Wouldn’t it be possible to just magic the right words into existence?” He wasn’t sure if that was something magic could actually do—find the right words. But Yuuri thought that if anyone could make it happen, Victor could.

But the god just shrugged. “I’m not sure, honestly. Besides, it’s cathartic, in a way.” He laughed again, but this time Yuuri thought it sounded a bit strained. “Even if I’ll never be all that good at it.”

Yuuri sat up, dropping his hands into his lap. “I don’t know who told you that, but it isn’t true.” Gods above, why couldn’t Victor understand that?

A shadow passed over the god’s eyes, and Yuuri’s heart sank. He hadn’t really meant anything by the comment, but he could guess what—who—victor was thinking about. Right. Yuuri wasn’t here to read poetry or idle away his time with this handsome and naked god in front of him; he had a job to do.

“Have you ever heard of Water Wraith?” he asked, surprised by the volume of his own voice. He was too loud, cheerful to the point that it was obviously fake. The shadows still danced in Victor’s eyes, cold and cruel. “You’ll close your eyes, and I’ll try to keep away from you. You’ve got to find me.”

The god’s nostrils flared, and Yuuri worried for a moment that he might snap. But all he said was “Isn’t that a children’s game?”

“Y-yes, but—” Yuuri fiddled with a leaf in order to avoid the god’s eyes, reminding himself that Victor’s mood wasn’t his fault—not entirely, anyway. “I’ve never played before. Phichit was—is—afraid of water, and I didn’t have many friends growing up, so—”

There was a splash, and he looked up to see Victor just as he came up from the water, flipping his hair to the side like the mermaids in the stories his mother used to read to him when he was a child. He stretched his arms above his head, droplets of water clinging to his bare skin and catching the sunlight until he was practically sparkling. Amazing. For a moment, Yuuri forgot to be worried and simply stared.

“Are you coming or not?” Victor’s voice was light, but there was an edge to it—an edge that reminded Yuuri, once again, why they were there.

He dropped into the water, already formulating a plan. It would be simple, really. All he had to do was wait until Victor’s eyes were closed and come up behind him, take a real look at the symbol.

His plan, however, failed. Drastically.

He hadn’t taken the splashing into account, and he hadn’t anticipated Victor to be so good at the game. Every time Yuuri tried to come up behind him, his head would tilt, and he would lunge at Yuuri with ease, tapping him lightly on the shoulder—always directly on the shoulder—before opening his eyes and shaking his head. “Yuuri, you’re supposed to swim _away_ , not towards me.”

Further frustrating was the fact that Yuuri was terrible at the game. He couldn’t touch Victor to save his life, spending a good amount of time floundering in the water like a dying fish, reaching his arms toward something that wasn’t there. And every time his fingers did meet skin, he knew with growing certainty that Victor was letting it happen.

“Oops, you’ve got me again, Yuuri.”

He tried not to scowl too much, but this wasn’t getting him anywhere. The shadows had disappeared from Victor’s eyes, at least, and he seemed to be enjoying himself. Or perhaps he was just enjoying watching Yuuri make a fool of himself.

After about twenty minutes of embarrassment, Yuuri made a decision. The moment Victor closed his eyes, he slipped under the surface of the water—technically against the rules—and called on his magic. Water was the easiest element to control by far, so Yuuri willed the current to shift just for him, to push him toward and around the god’s body. Knowing full well how easily this plan could backfire, he swam straight up, bursting from the water to tackle Victor from behind.

The god’s startled yelp was a victory in itself—finally, Yuuri was the one with the element of surprise on his side—but it was short-lived. Because the mark was just as he remembered it, and it was just as he had feared.

Heart Binding.

The words were almost beautiful, like some sort of declaration of real love—one heart, bound to another. But that sour feeling was back in Yuuri’s stomach, in his throat. He detached himself from Victor, worried he might be sick.

“That’s cheating, Yuuri!” Victor cried out, but he was laughing. When he turned, his eyes were full of cheerful surprise just like Yuuri had wanted, and it broke his heart.

The god’s face fell as soon as he registered the expression on Yuuri’s. “Is everything alright?”

Yuuri nodded, but his mind was far away, now, wondering exactly how a certain young fae male would react to this confirmation of his fears. Wondering what they would have to do next.

Victor didn’t look convinced, but he nodded back. “It’s getting dark.” He swam to the side of the river, pulling himself up onto the ground and then offering his hand to Yuuri. “Come on.”

Yuuri took it, noticing the change in the sky for the first time. Victor’s skin was pale and, for the first time in a while, free of those dark gloves he usually wore. His grip was firm as he pulled Yuuri to his feet. “I have something I want to show you,” he said.

“What is it?”

Yuuri didn’t have time for another outing or more games. He wanted to get back to the castle and figure things out, and he almost said as much. But his reluctance melted into curiosity when Victor answered, winking: “You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you get when you cross writer's block with poor mental health? Absolutely nothing! which is why this took me 300 years to finish. But last night inspiration punched me in the face and I finally finished the chapter, and then I wrote half of the next chapter, and then I outlined the entire rest of the story so who's suffering now!? (hint, it's still me.)
> 
> Pantsless Victor was brought to you by Lauriana25--she actually wrote that little bit herself so you can thank her for that   
> ♡＾▽＾♡
> 
> If you're still with me, thank you so much for reading!!


	13. Beyond the Summit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two (2) Bad Words in this chapter, I know this fic is rated T but idk I thought I should put a warning just in case?

They headed away from the river. Behind them the rushing sound raised back to it’s original volume, the current speeding up again with Victor’s departure.

“Uh—V—Victor—” The god was pulling Yuuri along firmly, though not aggressively, heading back into the denser part of the forest at a pace Yuuri could only barely match. It wouldn’t have been so much of a problem if there wasn’t still a decided lack of clothing on both of their parts. Yuuri stumbled all the more, trying to keep his eyes leveled firmly above the god’s bare ass.

“Victor,” he tried again. “Our clothes.”

The god turned his head, just barely, but Yuuri could make out a small smile pulling at his mouth, and he found both of them, quite suddenly, fully dressed and as dry as if they had never been in the water to begin with. He sighed in relief, letting Victor drag him forward.

Twice. That was twice now that he had seen Victor fully naked.

He couldn’t decide whether it was twice too many or not nearly enough.

With a yelp, Yuuri stumbled over the rough ground, caught off balance by his own thoughts and the speed at which Victor was moving. “Where are we going? Hey—” He stumbled again, nearly falling this time, pulling on victor’s hand as if it were a lifeline. “Victor, can you—”

All at once Yuuri’s feet were no longer on the ground and he found himself lifted up, clinging to Victor’s back. He barely had time to blush before the god sped back up, moving almost twice as fast as he had been before, propelled forward by some magic-induced wind. “I’m sorry, Yuuri,” he said. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

Yuuri wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all—riding piggyback on the shoulders of a god—but the thought was carried away by the wind and he found himself holding on tight, clasping his hands together over Victor’s chest. He might have expected him to carry the scent of dirt and river water—Yuuri certainly did. But no; he smelled so good it was almost overwhelming—sweet roses and that second scent, the greatest intoxicant Yuuri had ever felt. He rested his head against silver hair, tried to take a breath without being too obvious, and he could have sworn he heard a noise—low and deep; desperate in the god’s throat. But that couldn’t be right either. It must have been the wind, playing tricks on his ears.

The forest was quiet; Yuuri hadn’t noticed before. The cicadas that had screamed near the river were nonexistent out here among the densely packed trees, and no other sounds broke the evening save for that of Victor’s feet on the ground and the wind rushing past the two of them. This was nothing like the sunny path that led to the fae village. It reminded him of the night he should have died, the way the growing darkness rose around them like a wall as the sun set. He shuddered, and Victor, apparently noticing the motion, asked him if he was alright.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri promised—lied. ”I’m just… remembering.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Victor’s voice was sharp, firm. “I promise.”

“Swear to the gods?” Yuuri teased, hoping his tone came out lighter than he felt.

But Victor, it seemed, wasn’t in the mood for teasing. “I swear on your life, Yuuri,” he said. “Your life and mine.”

Those words, the way Victor said them—Yuuri shivered again. They were a promise. A prayer just as much as anything else.

Yuuri tilted his head, laying his cheek on Victor’s shoulder. “I know,” he said softly.

And he did know. He couldn’t remember much of his childhood—an unfortunate side effect of the anxiety he had struggled with all his life—but he remembered this. He remembered, years and years ago, the god carrying him just as he was now, surrounded by the darkness of a much different wood. Yuuri was just a child, then. And now…

By all accounts he was a man. If he hadn’t joined the troupe, he might actually have been married by now. It wasn’t uncommon in his village to be married at his age. And yet he was here, clinging to Victor exactly as he had done when he was young, using him to keep the darkness at bay. Back then: a stranger; but now? A friend? A master? Or worse, was he still some sort of child in Victor’s eyes, naive and mortal and so, so human?

He wanted to voice his concerns, but that would have made them real, and he wasn’t sure he could handle having his thoughts confirmed. Instead, he stared through the growing darkness. “You’re too kind,” he said against Victor’s shirt.

“I’d hardly say that,” Victor replied. His voice seemed breathless, and Yuuri wondered if he was expelling too much energy.

“You are,” Yuuri pushed. Then, after a beat he added “You have a reputation for being cruel. Outside the forest, I mean.”

“Do I really?” The god sounded surprised, and Yuuri felt bad for even mentioning it.

“Just among the elders of my village,” Yuuri added quickly. And the citizens of Sol—there had been plenty of talk on the subject when he and Phichit were there, but he didn’t voice this aloud. “I’m sure it’s just talk. Human life is so boring we’ve made a sport of making things up.”

Victor didn’t seem to hear him. “I guess that’s why nobody’s been visiting my temple lately,” he mumbled. His tone was light, so much so that Yuuri couldn’t even begin to guess what he was thinking.

“Well I know better, at least,” he grumbled against Victor’s shirt. He wished he could be surprised, but he wasn’t. He had never even heard of any temple of the forest god, but he suspected he knew why; Victor’s temple wasn’t in the forest.

Back when he was a child, after he had returned home from his stint in the forest god’s castle, his parents had fussed over him for weeks. The forest god is a nameless god, they’d said. And a nameless god is the most dangerous kind. A nameless god is cruel, cunning, powerful enough that there is no need for him to share his true name with mortal men. Powerful enough to forego worshipers for anonymity. Yuuri only remembered this because it struck him so hard as untrue. He had spent weeks in the god’s presence, and he had been nothing but kind.

“They call you—” Yuuri started, stopped. He wasn’t sure he should say any of this out loud, but he wanted so badly to know. “They call you a nameless god.”

Victor laughed, but it was a sad thing—a single, sharp note that shot through Yuuri’s core like an arrow. “I guess they would call me that.”

Yuuri wondered if the name he had been given was a false one—or, at least, only part of the whole. Still, to him, Victor was just Victor. Always had been.

“It doesn’t matter,” Yuuri said. “I know the truth, right?”

Victor didn’t answer, and suddenly Yuuri felt foolish. As if he mattered any more than any of the other humans who slandered the forest god’s name. It struck him, then, just how different the two of them were. Victor was not mortal; Yuuri was. Yuuri’s life would pass in the blink of an eye to an immortal, wouldn’t it? Was that why Victor was being so kind to him? Because Yuuri wasn’t a burden or a weight he’d have to carry—not for long, anyway. No, his life was nothing but a single moment in time, the span of a breath; he was inconsequential.

Forest noises started up again, quiet at first, and then louder, with more intensity. Victor stopped.

Yuuri felt himself being placed on the ground and panic swept through him. Looking up, he could still see the last remnants of the sunset in the form of a purple sky, but around him the forest was dark, impossibly so. His hands shook as he grasped in the dark for Victor, but his fingers couldn’t find purchase, and his mind began to spin. Victor wouldn’t have left him here in the dark in the middle of the forest, would he? But the feeling passed when he felt a gentle hand on the small of his back, another gentle hand winding gloved fingers through his, and he finally relaxed.

“We’ll walk the rest of the way,” Victor said softly, so close to Yuuri’s ear it made him shiver. “Don’t worry, we’re close.”

And they were. As they continued forward, Yuuri could feel it buzzing in his chest and under his skin, tingling on his lips and at the tips of his fingers—magic as old as the world itself.

“Oh,” he said. “ _Oh_.”

Victor’s breath came out in a small laugh, and his grip tightened on Yuuri’s shoulder. “You can feel it?”

“Is that strange?”

“Not necessarily.” Victor was grinning. “It’s… interesting.”

Yuuri was about to answer, but then instead his eyes widened because he realized he could _see_.

He looked ahead, realizing that the two of them were walking on a path carved from stone, a faint blue light emanating from somewhere in the midst of the trees.

No, Yuuri realized with a jolt. The light was coming from the trees themselves. Iridescent blue and white shone from the cracks in the bark, the pores of the trees. It sparkled from between leaves and glowed underfoot. Fungi he would never have otherwise noticed dotted the darkness with the same cool light as the stars.

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

When he turned back to Victor he expected to see the same sort of reverence in his eyes, but they were only sad as they took in the scenery. “The forest is dying,” he said. Yuuri squeezed the god’s hand in a way he hoped was reassuring. Blue eyes turned to him as if surprised at the touch, the little bit of contact between them. “That’s why you were attacked, I think.” He went on, dropping his eyes to their clasped hands as the two of them continued forward. “My power only reaches so far, and I can no longer protect the edges.” He frowned. “I’m losing my grip on the magic.”

Yuuri stopped, forcing Victor to stop alongside him. “Why?” he said. “Why are you trapped here? What happened?” He wanted to hear Victor say it. He wanted—selfishly, maybe—for the god to tell him the truth from his own mouth.

But he wouldn’t look at his face. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. He began to walk once again, and Yuuri was forced to follow. “It was my choice, in the end. It was the right choice, too, so don’t start feeling sorry for me.” He flashed a smile, and it seemed genuine enough. “Anyway, I _did_ bring you here for a reason.”

Yuuri made a confused noise. This—the magic in the air and the emanating light—that seemed like reason enough to come here. But he couldn’t deny the feeling in his gut, the sensation pulling him forward with just as much force as Victor’s hand. The magic that surrounded them was stronger still the farther forward they moved.

“This wasn’t originally a forest,” Victor said. “This whole stretch of land—this whole country, really—it used to be barren.”

“Really?” Yuuri shouldn’t have been surprised. Victor had probably been alive long enough to watch entire continents change. “Were you able to watch it grow?”

A small smile. “I made it grow, actually.”

“Really!”

Victor nodded, which Yuuri could see clearly now. “I wish you could have seen it back then, Yuuri. It was beautiful.”

It still was, Yuuri wanted to say—what was left of it, anyway. But Victor was slowing again, and the thrum of magic was all around them now, echoing through Yuuri’s head in a way that was somehow both dizzying and clarifying at the same time. He could feel it in his heartbeat, as if that ancient magic were pumping through his veins rather than blood.

At last, they came upon a clearing, in the middle of which stood the largest tree Yuuri had ever seen. That same glowing blue light splayed from the tree in even more abundance than what he had seen so far, and magic radiated from the thing. Each delicate leaf was outlined with white; every single branch dripped with it. It was as if the force of life itself shone from the tree. He could even feel the roots below, humming with power.

“I come here every night,” Victor said sadly. “Try to pump as much magic into this tree as I can. It’s the only reason this part of the forest is still thriving.”

“You made this?” Yuuri said, turning to Victor, who was looking at the tree the same way he had looked at the clouded sky all those weeks ago.

“It was a long time ago,” Victor said with a wave of his free hand. Once again Yuuri was struck by just how much power Victor must have possessed before it had begun to fade. He wondered what it was like, having so much power. The buzzing in his chest grew stronger, more insistent, as if the tree heard the question and was attempting an answer.

His skin was warm where his hand was still holding the god’s, even through those midnight black gloves; he had barely noticed that they were still touching. “I tried to plant a tree once,” Yuuri said, “when I was young. I don’t think it ever even sprouted.”

Victor chuckled. “We’re from completely different worlds, aren’t we?”

Yuuri turned to Victor, facing him fully. He thought the words were meant as a joke, and it was true that he had been thinking something similar earlier, but…

“Maybe,” he said carefully. “But I don’t think so. Not really.”

Victor’s brow quirked, amusement clear in those blue eyes. “Is that so?”

Yuuri shook his head vehemently. “We’re both here, aren’t we?” he said, struggling to form his thoughts into words. “This forest is your world, and it’s my world too; it’s been my world since I was a child. It’s the world my parents grew up in—it’s where my grandparents collected the wood to build my family’s inn, where we’ve hunted for meat and foraged for scraps when the winters were long and harsh. It’s where—it’s where I met you for the first time…” Yuuri chewed at his bottom lip, frustrated that he couldn’t form the words to make Victor see, to make him _understand_. “We may not be the same,” he said, “not in terms of blood or bone. But we’re both _here_.”

He almost expected the god to laugh, to dismiss the sentiment as some sort of mortal drivel, but the amusement fell from his eyes, his lips parting slightly.

The two of them looked at each other, and Yuuri could only guess what was on Victor’s mind. A breeze blew through them, lifting silver hair from the god’s forehead, lifting Yuuri’s own black from his own. Puffs of white seeds floated through the air like snow.

Victor’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but his voice was steady when he said, “I’ve never met anyone who thinks like that.”

“Ah—I wasn’t trying to be offensive!” Yuuri said quickly, cheeks heating in response to that stare. “I’m not trying to pretend I’m on your level, I know I’m just a man, I just—”

But Victor was shaking his head, something akin to wonder shimmering in his eyes. “I’ve never met someone who understands so much about others without trying, but underestimates himself at every turn.”

The way Victor was looking at him—it was pulling Yuuri in. Maybe he felt bold from Victor’s words or maybe the magic pumping through the air was messing with his head, he wasn’t sure. Right now, there was only one thing he was sure of. Feeling brave or possibly just very, very foolish, Yuuri stepped forward. He brought his hand up to rest, gently, on Victor’s cheek. Victor’s eyes widened, and light surged around them, erratic magic that Yuuri still could barely control.

“Yuuri.” His name, uttered so softly on the god’s lips, like a prayer. “I’ve been—” his eyes were so, so wide, reflecting the light from the mushrooms dotting the ground like stars. “I’ve been so—.”

Lonely. He didn’t say it, but Yuuri knew with a knowledge so deeply rooted inside him it may as well have been his own loneliness he felt. He wasn’t sure if the empathy was coming from the swirl of magic around them or the fact that Victor had his soul—he didn’t know and he didn’t care. It was true that he could never really understand exactly how Victor felt, he could never really understand the situation. But for a moment he felt it, and it was a terrified thing that clawed at his bones with weathered fingers and buried itself into his heart until he felt like he was breaking.

“I’m here,” he said fiercely, protectively. “And I’m not going anywhere. I swear on my life.”

The corners of Victor’s lips twitched. “And mine?”

Yuuri bit his lip to keep a grin from spreading across his face. “Your life and mine.”

Victor beamed, then, and Yuuri swore softly. Fuck. He was fucked. Because he was drowning, in Victor’s smile and in his eyes and his starlight. Because he had never wanted anything more in his short, insignificant life than he wanted Victor right then. He wanted to know what it felt like to be held— _really_ held—as a friend, a lover. He wanted to gaze at the sky while watching the god paint pictures with the stars. He wanted to bundle up beneath a pile of blankets in the winter, treasure Victor in all the ways he deserved. He wanted to wind their magic together until it would be nearly impossible to tell where his ended and Victor’s began.

He wanted it all—everything Victor was, Yuuri wanted it.

Victor stepped closer, and his eyes were the farthest from shadowed Yuuri had ever seen them. They were clear and unhindered and as blue as a spring sky. He was so close Yuuri could feel his breath fanning across his face, could smell that scent—the smell of starlight, stronger than it had ever been before. His chest felt suddenly too full and hollowed out at the same time, and Victor was looking at him as if he could fill it—with magic or something else, another kind of magic that a man might spend his whole life searching for.

He thought he might burst.

Victor looked down at him and it was almost painful, the way Yuuri’s heart thumped in his chest with the thought—just the _thought_ —that Victor might touch him the way he wanted. His heart raced and he thought he would explode—and then he did. Or, at least, his magic did. The seeds that had been floating around their heads all sprouted at once with a collective _pop_.

Partially-sprouted seeds fell from the sky, and the god let out a quick laugh of disbelief, swatting them away from his head. Then the fullest, richest laugh Yuuri had ever heard was tumbling from his mouth as more seeds rained down on them from above in a great downpour. And then Yuuri was laughing, too, reaching up to brush the small sprouts from Victor’s hair while the god did the same for him. It felt so good to laugh like this—so freeing.

Yuuri knew there was no way on earth he would ever get to be with Victor the way he wanted—he was foolish even for letting the thought cross his mind. But this—just being close to him; simply being allowed to spend time with him like this—gods, it was more than enough.

“We should go,” Victor said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “It’s late.”

He didn’t want to go—he wanted to stay here forever. But he knew that couldn’t happen. This little trip—it was a distraction from his goal. Once he figured out how to remove the mark, perhaps then he could allow himself to daydream.

Yuuri wanted to walk back to the castle, but Victor scooped him off the ground and carried him anyway. It was faster like this, he insisted with a smirk. Yuuri grumbled at that, but he could hardly say anything about it. The trip back seemed much faster, and all too soon Victor was setting Yuuri to his feet in front of his bedroom.

“Goodnight, Victor,” Yuuri said, turning to open the door. The castle was brighter than he remembered, and he suddenly felt shy now that he could see so clearly.

“Wait.”

He turned to find Victor closer than he had anticipated, to find their bodies only inches apart.

Victor sighed, and Yuuri thought he looked almost frustrated. “Never mind. Goodnight.” He made as if to leave, but then seemed to think better of it and leaned down to brush the barest, _softest_ hint of a kiss across Yuuri’s cheek. His eyes fluttered shut almost of their own accord, his face tipping up in surprise and yearning. “Thank you, Yuuri,” the god’s voice said, but when Yuuri opened his eyes he was gone.

He raised a hand to touch his cheek, feeling the warmth of the blush blooming over his skin, and then retreated to his room.

Laying on his back in the dark, Yuuri covered his eyes with both hands, feeling absolutely giddy but more confused than ever. He couldn’t help it; a grin was fixed on his face and he couldn’t stop. Even if that’s all Victor would give him—even if it was all he _could_ give him—Yuuri thought he had never been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I don't post next week, it's because finals have killed me. To anyone else suffering through university finals--or high school finals, those can be brutal too--my entire heart is with you, I sincerely wish you good luck. Go get em (○｀･Д･´)9
> 
>  
> 
> THANKS FOR READING


	14. The Approaching Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A MILLION THANKS to my beta reader, Yammerss, for this chapter; for beta-ing and also for finally giving the master a name!! because I was at a loss for the past 13 chapters. So many thanks again!

Victor staggered toward his room, feeling strangely off balance. He pushed his fingers through his hair and pressed down on the top of his head, which had started pounding almost the moment his lips had brushed across Yuuri’s skin. Yuuri’s soft, warm skin, flushed pink in the dim light of the hallway. He could still feel the echo of the kiss, cool and tingling in his chest like he had just swallowed a star. Buzzing the same way his magic used to, years ago, when he hadn’t used it enough—when it wanted to be set free.

Victor collided with the wall, letting out a cry of surprise as he fell to the floor. When had he even reached his room?

Looking around, everything seemed distorted—warped. Something felt wrong. His furniture was too big, or maybe it was too small. Maybe there was too much of it or maybe there wasn’t nearly enough. The air was cold and warm all at once, and much darker than he remembered. Was he losing his eyesight now, too? Wouldn’t that be fantastic: a blind, magicless god.

Laughter bubbled up from his core; thick, icy bubbles that burned as they came out. It filled his lungs and shook his shoulders until he couldn’t quite breathe, like the air he was trying to suck into his body wasn’t the right kind of air, and he was suffocating.

Stars above, what was _wrong_ with him?

Spreading his arms out on either side of him, he stared at the ceiling. It looked to be moving, writhing and twisting while shadows hung from its darkness like spiders. He had been seeing more and more of those lately—those shadows that crept around the castle, faceless and heavy. It was a wonder Yuuri didn’t seem to notice them. Perhaps the man was simply too pure-hearted, or perhaps Victor could only sense them because he _wasn’t._ Not like he used to be, anyway.

A nameless god; a heartless god.

Where exactly had he gone wrong?

A memory slithered between the cracks in his mind—an image, orange and burning—but it was dead before it could surface. That was fine. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It likely hadn’t been one single decision that had ruined him, but hundreds of thousands stretching across millennia, back to the beginning of time.

He rolled over onto his side, tired of staring at shadows. Maybe this was how things were supposed to be. He had been alive long enough to know that everything on earth fades eventually. Sometimes to dust, sometimes to darkness.

Perhaps it was simply his time to fade to darkness.

Yuuri’s soul pulsed against the hollow of his throat, and he reached up to touch it, as he found himself doing all too often these days. Such a delicate thing, a human soul. So easily breakable. And yet, here he was: a being who once held infinite power, holding tight to a human soul because it was offering _him_ comfort.

It occurred to him, then, that perhaps he was the one who was weak. 

He could tell Yuuri was still awake from the way his soul pulsed and skipped, almost like a stuttering heartbeat. Victor wanted to stand, to slip into Yuuri’s room and spend a few hours just… talking. That was all he wanted.

He wanted to share with him the most mundane things about himself—like his favorite color or the fact that he had always wanted to try ice dancing. He wanted to tell Yuuri of his younger days, back before this forest even existed, back when he and Christophe used to get into all sorts of trouble, bending the rules of nature just enough to keep them intact. Hours before, in the only part of his forest left truly alive, he had wanted to speak so badly it was almost a physical ache. But every time he had opened his mouth to do so, something had forced him to stop. Some sort of darkness that had been growing inside of him for years now.

He wanted to share himself with Yuuri, but he just couldn’t.

Of course, he had shared that poem. But that was easy, and it didn’t have anything to do with Victor. It didn’t require anything confessional on his part, nor he hadn’t revealed anything personal about himself—it was all about Yuuri. He made a face, hoping the writing hadn’t been too awful. Perhaps he should have shown Yuuri one of the others. It was embarrassing, really, how many poems he had already written about the man in the short time since he’d been there.

Not nearly as many as he had written about Demyan over the years, but that was to be expected.

A sharp pain stabbed through Victor’s chest like an arrow, and he cried out, curling himself into a ball on the stone floor. Of course it was to be expected. He loved Demyan. He loved him enough to stay here and he loved him enough to wait for him to come home, even if it took years and years and years.

He repeated the words, out loud this time. “I love Demyan. I love him.”

An image of Yuuri’s face splashed over his mind—eyes sparkling with laughter, smile wide and innocent.

The pain came back, agonizing now, splintering from where it began above his heart to spread to the rest of his body, biting like fire burning through his veins. To be thinking of Yuuri, at a time like this—it was wrong. Yuuri was nothing. Yuuri was—he was nobody, wasn’t he? He was just a human Victor took in because he was— He had only saved his life because—

He gasped for breath, wondering through the haze if it could be possible to forget how to breathe. Shaking, he lifted himself to his knees. He pressed down on his chest with his hand as if that could ease the pain, and tried to summon his notebook. But his head was fuzzy, and his magic wouldn’t work. Stars above, why wouldn’t his magic work?

Hot tears streamed down his face as he forced himself to crawl toward his bedside table. He was still lucid enough to despise the small whimper that escaped his lips as he reached up with trembling hands to pull the top drawer from its place. The drawer came crashing to the floor from the clumsy force with which he pulled, and the table came falling after it, landing directly on top of him with a crack.

Despite the pain blooming in his head, the pain in his chest was still worse, and he scrambled to find the notebook amidst the wreckage of the table. Finally, his fingers found the worn black leather, and he let himself fall back to his side. He opened the notebook to one of the marked pages—one of many love poems addressed to his Demyan, his Master. He read the poems twice through, all of them, to remind himself. He loved him. He loved him he loved him he loved him.

But the pain would not go away, and his vision was blurring. From the tears or the spot where he hit his head or both, it was hard to say.

He hugged the notebook to his chest, calling on his magic—a shimmer, a spark, anything. But his power remained dormant somewhere inside of him. Or maybe it was no longer there at all; maybe it had vanished for good this time. Bitterly, he wondered if perhaps it would be for the best. Perhaps he would be allowed some peace, then.

Blinking through the tears stuck in his lashes, he gripped the notebook tighter, but he found no solace in the motion. The comfort the thing had once given him was nowhere to be found—a gift from his Master, wasted on Victor just like all the rest of his kindness had been.

Stars, he hated this. He hated himself. He didn’t deserve his Master’s kindness. He never had. Victor was, and always would be, worthless.

He wanted to dissolve into the night sky. He wanted to fade to stardust. He called on his magic again, weakly, but still there was nothing except the pain ripping through him.

Then, a flutter, cool against his throat.

Not his magic, but Yuuri’s. It pulsed from the pendant in waves; a safe, soothing beat that calmed Victor’s racing heart. It was familiar, somehow, in a way Demyan’s never had been. It washed over him like the ocean—pushing at his pain, pulling it back—lessening the hurt bit by bit until Victor’s eyes finally fluttered shut. His lips parted with a sigh. The notebook tumbled from his hands, falling to the floor as he was finally able to relax, lulled to a dreamless sleep by the steady, soft thrum of Yuuri’s soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!


	15. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit once again to Yammerss for beta-ing, your help is invaluable!!

Yuuri took a deep breath, balancing the tray of breakfast food in one hand so he could knock on Victor’s door with the other. His nerves were strung a bit high, but he was still riding that tentative happiness he had allowed himself to feel the night before. He had woken up early to cook, though he wasn’t very good at it. He had just wanted to do _something_ to thank Victor for everything he had done for him.

He knocked on the door again, bouncing on his feet in anticipation. Would Victor like the meal? Would this gesture be seen as strange—as something more? Was Yuuri okay with that? Would Victor be okay with it?

Frowning, he knocked again, more insistently this time. Maybe the god had already woken up and was no longer in his room.

“Victor,” he said, giving up on being polite and pushing the door open firmly. “I made you breakfast. It’s not much but it’s—”

The words died on Yuuri’s tongue when he took in the messed up state of the room. “Victor!” He dropped the tray to rush to the god’s side, kneeling beside him to put two fingers on his throat. It was probably foolish to think a god could die this easily, but he had to check. He felt a pulse—steady and strong as ever—and he finally relaxed a little.

Still, questions swirled around inside his head. What had happened last night? Had Victor’s so-called ‘Master’ showed up again? Had there been some sort of fight?

“Victor. Victor, wake up.” He shook the god’s shoulders, but there was no response. “Victor, please.” With growing unease, Yuuri placed a hand on the god’s forehead, reeling back when he felt the heat under his skin. Letting out the most colorful stream of curses he thought he had ever used, Yuuri stood to assess the situation.

Victor was sprawled on the floor in what had to be an incredibly uncomfortable position, but Yuuri wasn’t sure he would be able to lift him onto the bed if he tried. Instead, he maneuvered Victor’s arms and legs into what he thought looked at least slightly more comfortable, and tucked a pillow under his head. A blanket came next, and Yuuri couldn’t help but remember his first night in the castle, the night Victor had done almost this same thing for him.

Finished, he dropped to his knees. Tears pricked behind his eyes and he let out a sob, burying his face in his hands while he hunched over Victor’s still body. He had been trying to stay strong in front of the god all this time, although he hadn’t been totally successful. But it didn’t matter if he cried in front of him now. Right now, he had nobody to be strong for.

Taking a deep breath, he attempted to wipe away his tears, though they kept coming, relentlessly, like a rushing river. If Victor had another fever, it was Yuuri’s fault this time. It had to have been that kiss—it had to be. Yuri had told him that Victor got sick like this every time the Master was brought up—every time he thought too long about him. Yuuri’s heart constricted. Victor must have been thinking of him even as he kissed Yuuri. He must have been, for this fever to come on overnight. It made sense. Yuuri wished it didn’t, but gods above, there was no other explanation.

Biting his lip, he grazed the backs of his fingers gently across Victor’s brow, brushing that starlight-silver hair from the god’s eyes.

Even in sleep he was beautiful, long silver lashes fluttering, the tops of his cheeks warm and flushed—though that was no doubt due to the fever. He was beautiful; and he was utterly, wholly unattainable. Yuuri wanted to laugh, but what he felt instead was another set of wracking sobs, threatening to split him in two. How could he have even entertained the thought that he and Victor might someday be something more?

What they had was enough—he had decided that already. Still, a small, hidden part of his heart had been opened the moment Victor’s lips had touched his cheek, and he realized it only then, as he looked down upon Victor’s sleeping form. But Victor was still in love, and it wasn’t with him.

He wiped the tears from his eyes and stood, angry now. Not at Victor, but at himself. He was being too selfish. He needed to get ahold of himself.

He picked up the partially smashed nightstand table and set it as upright as he could, far enough away from Victor so that there was no danger of the thing falling on him again. Then he bent to pick up everything that had fallen from within—illegibly scribbled notes, a few scattered pieces of gold, other odds and ends that Yuuri might have taken more time to look at if the situation were different, things he might have found endearing at a different time. He put them in a careful pile against the wall.

Then he spotted a small leather notebook partially hidden beneath the bed, laying wide open. Victor’s notebook.

Yuuri reached for it, only realizing after he had already picked it up that it wasn’t the same notebook as before. This one was thicker and obviously older, considerably worn down after years and years of use.

He didn’t mean to read it, but it was already open, and he had caught the title even before his hand had landed on it.

Demyan.

He flipped through the book, breath catching in his chest, knowing he shouldn’t be reading something so private but unable to stop himself. There were so many poems. Fifty years of poems all with the same title and the same subject. Hundreds of love poems, all addressed to the same person.

Demyan.

That name—recognition tugged at Yuuri’s gut, but nothing concrete came to mind. He was sure he didn’t know anyone by that name, and yet…

He went to shut the book, but his eyes locked on one page in particular. This was a bad idea. Every bit of his being told him to stop—that he was infringing upon Victor’s privacy. On top of that, he felt mildly nauseous at what he might find. But nevertheless, this page gave him pause. It was less of a poem, and more like a letter.

 

 _Demyan_ , it read.  
  
_Tonight, we shared my bed for the first time in over a year._  
  
_You’ve always slept like the dead, like you might never wake_  
_I’ve always envied that. I wish I could fall into something so deep._  
_Sleep is harder with you here_  
_but I cannot say so_  
  
_I don’t want you_  
_to leave again, but I cannot say so_  
  
_I don’t want you_  
_to disappear with the morning sun_  
_because every time I wake up alone_  
_it’s so, so cold_  
_and my body is sore and I can’t help but wonder if_  
  
_You’ve done that on purpose,_  
_if you keep inflicting this careless pain_  
_just to remind me to love you while you’re gone._  
  
_You won’t let me_  
_say I hope you remember to love me, too._  
  
_You won’t let me_  
_say it out loud, because, as you’ve said, it’s hard for you, too._  
_I can never say, so I suppose I’ll just write it down_  
_again_  
  
_and again until this ink becomes dust and dissolves_  
_into something that can be carried on the wind_  
_to wherever you are._  
  
_I don’t want you_  
_to leave. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t_  
  
_want you to leave—_

 

The words cut off there—though Yuuri didn’t think Victor had been done writing it—and he dropped the book. His hands shook, and his breath came out in shallow huffs. He knelt next to the book, which was still, somehow, open to the same page. The stone floor was cold on his knees. The air in the room was cold, too. Much too cold.

He covered his mouth with one hand as he reread the page, gaze lingering on the ends of each line: _“I don’t want you” “I don’t want you” “you won’t let me” “you won’t let me” “I don’t want you._ ” And that very last one: _“want you to leave”_.

Surely, that wasn’t just a coincidence.

The door creaked open and Yuuri jumped to his feet, terrified that he would come face to face with that man, that Demyan, but it was only Makkachin pushing her way into the room only to jump to Victor’s side, whining softly.

“It’s going to be okay, Makka,” Yuuri said, relief flooding through his system. He bent down to pet the poodle. “He’s going to be okay, we’ll make sure of it.”

Right. Yuuri needed to finish what he’d started.

“Alright, girl,” he said. “I’ve got a job for you.”

A while later, Makkachin pushed Victor’s door open again, this time with Yuri in tow. The latter’s elegant wings fluttered softly even as a scowl darkened his lovely features into something scary.

The blond crossed his arms. “What the hell have you done to him?”

“I haven’t done anything,” Yuuri answered. “Well, not directly. Listen, you were right about the heart binding. Victor is—he was—”

“Yuuri and Yuri.” Victor’s voice, a bit slurred and entirely too giddy. The two men spun toward the noise only to find the god grinning up at them from the floor. “That’s a bit confusing, isn’t it?”

“Victor!” Yuuri knelt down to grasp the god’s hands in his. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Victor’s blue eyes were focused only on the blond fae, who was still hovering near the door. “We’ll call you—” Victor giggled, pointing directly at the snarling young man “—Yurio!”

Yuri—Yurio now, apparently—looked surprised, and then angry, balling up his fists at his sides. “Like hell you will!”

Victor moved his gaze to Yuuri’s, batting his lashes. “It’s less confusing, don’t you think Yuuri?”

Yuuri bit his lip. “Gods above,” he muttered. Victor’s eyes were dark—the normally cool blue had shifted to the deep blue of a midnight sky. He could feel the heat from his fever radiating off of him, as if there were smoldering coals underneath his skin. “Can you get up onto the bed?”

Victor’s grin was crooked. “Only if you’ll join me, Yuuri.” The suggestive way he purred Yuuri’s name had a blush creeping up his neck, but he ignored it and pushed Victor’s searching hands away.

“Yurio,” he said, standing and stepping carefully away from the god to look at the young blond. “Can you help me get him onto the bed?”

“Don’t you call me that, asshole!” Yurio ground his teeth together, but he did as he was asked, lifting Victor from beneath his arms while Yuuri grabbed his legs. Together they managed to get a laughing, squirming Victor onto his bed and the blankets pulled to his neck.

“You guys are no fun,” the god said, laughter subsiding. Something in his expression changed, then, and a slow scowl stretched across his face. It marred his beautiful features into something twisted, something almost demonic. “No fun at all.”

“Victor…” Yuuri’s face softened. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from reaching out, then spun and made for the door, motioning Yurio to follow him. “It’s going to be okay,” he called, not trusting himself to turn. “Just get some sleep.”

Yuuri managed to make it to the end of the hall without crying, Yurio in tow.

“He might not stay there you know,” Yurio said from behind him. “He’s sick, but he can still move.”

“I know,” Yuuri said. “We can’t control what he does when he’s like that.”

The two walked in silence for a ways, then Yurio spoke up again. “I guess you figured it out then. The tattoo.”

Yuuri nodded, pushing the library door open, which they had just reached. “I didn’t really have much doubt to begin with, honestly.”

“Any curse can be broken,” Yurio asserted, somewhat aggressively. “ Probably.”

Yuuri said nothing. The two of them sat at the table that had, at some point, become their usual spot for talking about Victor in secret. He frowned at the wall across from him. All these secrets, and he was barely any closer to fixing anything.

Yuuri yelped when he felt a sudden, harsh pain in his arm, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Hey,” Yurio snarled. “Are you even listening?”

Truthfully, he hadn’t been. He touched his arm where Yurio had punched it. He was surprised at how much it actually hurt, surprised at how strong the thin boy was. “Don’t you think we should talk to Victor about this before we go any further?”

“Hah? Are you stupid?” Yurio punched him in the arm again. “I don’t know the exact nature of this curse, but telling Victor isn’t a good idea. What if the old man finds out? What do you think he’d do to us? Or to Victor for that matter.” He adjusted his flower crown, which had tilted a bit from the force with which he had punched Yuuri. “I thought you had figured that out already.”

Yuuri rubbed his arm absently. The ‘old man.’ The one Victor was still in love with, however forcefully so.

“Demyan,” Yuuri said out loud, hating the way the name felt on his tongue.

Yurio’s mouth parted in shock. “Victor told you his name?”

“No. I figured it out myself.” Yuuri didn’t want to talk about it anymore. His stomach was already in knots and his chest was already heavy enough, so he busied himself with the books in front of him. Thankfully, Yurio didn’t push him on the subject.

“By the way,” the fae grunted, opening the book in front of him rather carelessly. “I have a visitor who’s agreed to help us with this. He’s showed up at my place this morning.” From the violent way Yurio turned the page of the book, Yuuri suspected that this guest hadn’t exactly been invited, or it was at least someone Yurio didn’t like very much. “Actually, it would be a good idea for you to meet him later today. He’s—”

With that, the library door slammed open, cutting Yurio off mid-sentence. A figure barged in, glittering red and bursting with light. Fireworks exploded around him as he entered, and Yuuri shielded his eyes from the light with his arms. When he looked up, there was a man—no, definitely not a man—floating in midair, holding some sort of staff in the air in a triumphant position.

“Did somebody say ‘Most Handsome God in the World’?” he yelled with a grin.

“What the Hell, Chris?” Yurio barked, jumping into the air. “Are you stupid? Fireworks in a library, are you out of your gods damned mind!”

The god—Chris?—just chuckled. “Relax. I know what I’m doing.”

“I should have known you’d show up,” the young fae growled, dropping back to the ground with a thud.

Chris shrugged. “I thought I’d save you the trouble of coming home to fetch me, Yurio.”

Yuuri didn’t think he had ever seen so much unbridled rage as that on Yurio’s face then. “Not you too!” Then the anger magnified with the youth’s dawning horror, which was somehow almost worse. “Oh gods.” He balled both of his hands into fists, so tight against his sides his arms shook. “If everyone starts calling me that, Victor is dead.”

Chris laughed, but otherwise ignored the young man and turned instead to Yuuri, who had watched everything unfold without a word. “Ah, Yuuri! I’ve been dying to meet you.” He swooped down from the air and put a finger on his chin, examining Yuuri closely. “No blemishes, handsome as ever,” he mumbled to himself, making a circle around Yuuri. “No sign of seriously debilitating injuries, that’s always good. Possibly timeline 9271C, then.”

“Timeline nine two—what?” Yuuri gaped as Chris continued to circle him.

The man was still muttering to himself, picking and poking at Yuuri as he did so. He lifted Yuuri’s shirt, much to the man’s surprise. “Ah. You were attacked, how disappointing. I guess that’s 9271D.”

“H-Hey, quit it!” Yuuri pushed Chris’s hand away from the scars on his chest. “Who—”

The man grinned, leaping away from Yuuri to again hang in the air, resting his chin on his staff. “Christophe Giacometti, at your service.” He winked. “Otherwise known as the God of Time.”

Yuuri gaped, staring at Chris with new appreciation.

“Otherwise known as a pain in my ass,” Yurio said.

Chris tsked, waving his staff in the air. “Ignore him, Yuuri, I’m here to help,” he said, grinning wildly. “ In any way I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to go up exactly one week ago, but I traveled over the holidays and left my laptop at home, so that's my bad. Hope you enjoy this anyway, and thanks for reading!


	16. The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, credit to my beta reader Yammerss （⌒▽⌒）
> 
> I think I should put a slight warning, this chapter has some darkish, dubiously-consensual, implied sexual themes. Nothing explicit at all--just implications--but I thought I'd give a warning just in case someone might not be comfortable with that.

Yuuri and Yurio sat at their usual table, Yurio flipping through the one book they had been able to find on symbolic magic while Yuuri tried not to look at Chris, who was lounging on top of the table next to them, looking bored as he stared at the books lining the walls.

“So,” Yuuri said, quietly enough that he hoped Chris might not hear him. “He’s here to help, but he’s not allowed to interfere?”

“I told you,” Yurio grunted. He flipped the page in the book in front of him. “He’s just a pain in the ass.”

“I can’t interfere directly,” Chris said, making Yuuri flinch and finally look in his direction. “Since I’m a god and all. It wouldn’t be right.” He stretched, floating into the air as he did so. “However, the two of you are taking far too long for my taste.” He flew toward a shelf of books, a finger on his chin as his eyes scanned the spines. With one swift movement, he drew back his staff and then slammed it into the side of the shelf. Several books toppled out, but one in particular opened as it fell. A symbol caught Yuuri’s eye, and he rushed to pick it up, immediately handing it to a scowling Yurio, who had taken his eyes off his own book to watch Chris with scorn.

The fae flipped through the pages, swearing. “Damn it. Yep. This is it.” Yuuri leaned over Yurio’s shoulder, squinting at the strange writing. Sure enough, it looked like a recipe—ingredients for a spell.

“This is the curse?” He looked to Chris, brow raised. “I thought you weren’t allowed to help.”

Chris swung his staff in an arc, smiling. “What can I say? My hand slipped.”

Yurio ignored the god and read the ingredients out loud, frown deepening as he did so. They were all fairly common items—a sprig of rosemary, a dash of sea salt, bone meal—nothing overly out of the ordinary for a spell. But the fae youth’s face paled when he got to the end of the list. “Chosen reagent.” He shot Chris a glare. “That’s the final ingredient, are you fucking with me?”

“Chosen what?” Yuuri asked. “What does that mean?”

Yurio shoved the book away from him and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Chosen reagent. It means the last ingredient is something the caster chooses for themselves, which means it could be anything.”

“Is—is that bad?”

Yurio narrowed his eyes at him. “How have you made it this far knowing shit about magic? It means that we can’t counter the curse until we figure out what the old man used to cast it.” His glare was back, directed again at Chris. “I suppose that’s where you come in.”

Chris tilted his head, smiling. “If you need me.”

Yurio threw up his arms in exasperation, but Yuuri’s thoughts were racing now, everything nearly clicking into place. “But you said you can’t interfere, so that means—”

“I can’t tell, but I can show,” Chris interrupted with a wink. “Under very rare circumstances, I’ve been known to take a soul or two into the past. Just for a quick peek.”

“Right now?”

Yuuri’s shock must have been obvious, because the god laughed. “Why not? It’ll just be your soul traveling, so the process won’t take more than a few minutes in real time. Unless, of course, you’d rather wait.”

“No.” Yuuri shook his head. No more waiting. “I’ll go, but…” He hesitated, unsure how much of his situation he should be sharing with a stranger, god or not. “My soul isn’t—uh—it’s not in my body.”

Chris waved a dismissive hand. “Not a problem. It’s connected to your consciousness, so this will work. Wherever your soul is,” he flashed a knowing smile, “we’ll just be borrowing it for a minute.”

The transition was smooth and painless. Chris explained that Yuuri’s body would remain on the floor of the library in a state of unconsciousness until Yuuri’s soul returned. One touch of Chris’s staff to Yuuri’s temple and he had found himself floating in a dreamlike place, seemingly random images and noises swirling around him in a way that was somehow, impossibly, almost tangible. Like clouds made of memories, the air itself thick with echoes of overlapping sound.

“Where are we?” Yuuri asked. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, wavy and wrong.

Beside him, Chris huffed. “Essentially, you’re in my mind,” he said. “Or, at least, you’re seeing what I see whenever I travel.”

“Why is it so—”

“Messy?” Chris supplied, and Yuuri nodded. “Backward travel is one thing, but the future is so uncertain that even I can’t traverse it. Every decision anyone has ever made has had the potential for change, and I can see them all.” He gestured broadly around them. “This is it. Every single timeline displayed in my head in this lovely, horrible mess.”

Yuuri felt dizzy. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“You can think of it like branches on a tree, only the tree goes on forever. Every time someone makes a decision, their branch splits into a new potential future, except everyone in the entire world has their own branch and there are an infinite amount of possible decisions. I’m able to see them all at once.”

“Gods,” Yuuri whispered, wincing. “That’s what this is? Everyone’s futures? This is what’s in your head all the time?”

“Ha, I wish!” Chris held his staff out to Yuuri, nodding at him to take hold of it. The moment he touched the polished wood his head stopped spinning, though the images around him continued to churn and grind together in dizzying shapes and colors. “What you’re seeing is just a glimpse. The reality is much more chaotic, I assure you.”

Yuuri couldn’t even begin to imagine what that must be like, but he thought that wild look in Chris’s eyes made a bit more sense now. “U-uh. You said you’d explain—”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Pulling Yuuri alongside him, Chris pointed them in the direction of a clouded swirl that was darker than the rest—darker, and much more solid.Yuuri’s heart sped up as they moved through it like a tunnel, images and sounds appearing only to disappear just as quickly. “The past,” Chris explained, “has already happened, and therefore your soul can navigate it freely. It’s all a straight line, in a sense. Right now, we’re moving through my subconscious. My memories. But as soon as we enter the next tunnel, do not let go of this thing.” Chris shook the time staff, as if Yuuri weren’t already holding on to it so hard his knuckles were white. “A soul stuck in the past will wander aimlessly forever, and at that point it will be very difficult for me to help you.”

Yuuri nodded again, not trusting himself to speak.

“Good, we’re almost there.”

They passed a section of images depicting flashes of naked bodies and racy noises, and Yuuri colored slightly. He didn’t say anything, but Chris shrugged as if he had. “You’ve seen what’s in my head. Any little distraction helps.”

Yuuri raised a brow at the god’s wink, but remained silent. Honestly, he could understand how physical distraction would be helpful for something like that. It was like anxiety, sort of, in that shifting the focus to the immediate senses helped to calm the mind.

“Here we go, Yuuri. Hold on.”

Warm air rushed around them as they entered the next tunnel, and Yuuri blinked against it. “Victor’s past,” Chris said. Images whizzed by, some brightly colored and loud, others dark and silent. Yuuri caught a snippet of Victor laughing under the stars, holding hands with a man laying beside him, another flash of the two of them pressed together in the dark. Yuuri’s face burned, and he turned it away from the memories to focus his stare on his hand in front of him.

He told himself he was helping Victor—that’s what they were all trying to do, Yurio and Chris included. But Gods, this felt so wrong. And it wasn’t the first time he had deliberately invaded Victor’s privacy, either. Nausea swirled in his stomach the way Victor’s life swirled around him, and he thought he might be sick.

“We’ll stop once we’ve found the right one,” Chris said, almost too casually. He looked back at Yuuri, and there was something calculating in his gaze. “Victor won’t know if you look, by the way.” He flashed a small smile before turning his face forward again. “I certainly won’t tell him.”

Victor’s past, his entire life spread open for him like a book. Yuuri couldn’t even pretend like it wasn’t tempting, but he kept his eyes firmly on his hands as the two of them continued forward. He wanted to know—he did, and so badly at that. But not like this. If Victor wanted him to know, he would share. And if not…

“Ah, here we go.” There was that casual tone again, that forced lightness. “I imagine this isn’t going to be pretty; symbolic magic is taboo for a reason. I hope you’re prepared.”

In truth, he wasn’t. This was all so sudden. But he swallowed the trepidation and forced himself to focus on the image in front of them that was becoming clearer by the moment: a large room—a bedroom, from the looks of it, adorned with expensive-looking furniture and gold on almost every possible surface. Light came only from a few sparse candles scattered throughout, as well as the faint glow that emanated from Victor’s half-naked body as he knelt on the floor.

He looked the same, which made sense, though his eyes did seem a few shades lighter. Despite the position he was in, there was no fear in their blue, only slight discomfort as he looked up at the man who was shackling him to a wooden structure, which itself hung from the ceiling by several thick lengths of chain. The man was shrouded in shadow, as if the meager light in the room was doing everything it could to keep from touching him.

“They can’t see us,” Chris said softly, seeming to have noticed the hand that Yuuri had taken off the staff to cover his mouth. “And they can’t hear us, either. This is only an image of the past, nothing more.” Yuuri lowered his hand, but he clenched his teeth.

In front of them Victor flinched, and the image waved and contorted before coming back together once again in sharper detail.

“Demyan,” he said. The name was like a knife in Yuuri’s gut. “I know you’ve been into this stuff lately, but is all of this really necessary?” Victor’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, though that mildly worried look remained. “At the end of the day, isn’t it enough to just be together?” There was no reply, and Victor’s smile faltered, wilted. He flinched again. “Does it have to be so tight?”

In response, the man pulled the chains tighter around Victor’s wrists, ignoring the obvious whimper of pain that came with the motion. He attached Victor’s arm to one side of the wood before doing the same with his other. “We’re doing something special today,” the man said. “Or have you forgotten?”

All the blood in Yuuri’s body turned to ice. That voice—cold and smooth and cruel. It sounded so familiar.

The wavering smile on Victor’s face was heartbreaking, tentative faith marred by the unease that was clear in his eyes. “Of course I haven’t forgotten, Demyan, but you never really told me what—” Victor’s voice was cut off along with his airway as chain appeared from nowhere, wrapped around his throat tight enough that he could no longer speak. Demyan kept his distance, prowling along the edge of Victor’s light.

“ _Not_ in here. How many times do I have to tell you?” Demyan growled, taking a step farther into the light. Heavy boots thudded on the stone floor. “What do you call me in here?”

Victor tried to answer, a spark of fear flashing through his eyes at last. Yuuri reached toward him instinctively, the back of his own throat tight with unshed tears, but Chris snapped: “ _No_. Don’t let go of the staff.”

Demyan took another step closer, until he was properly looking down on him. He grasped the chain and pulled it taut, forcing the god’s face to tilt upward. Victor’s fingers twitched against the wood, but he kept the rest of his body still, muscles tight with the effort it seemed to take to do so. Still, he was shaking, his eyes wide and wet, pleading.

Demyan sneered. “Really Victor, you’re so ugly when you cry.”

Yuuri stopped breathing. Bile rose from the back of his throat and he could feel blood pounding through every pulse point in his body. Victor was fine, he reminded himself. He was fine and he was alive and he was sleeping in his bed right now, unharmed. But this man… this man was—

“Let’s try that again,” Demyan purred, loosening the chains just enough to let Victor gasp out a few shuddering breaths. The light that was glowing from his skin dimmed, flickered. “Who am I?”

“M-Master,” Victor choked out, more tears pooling in his eyes, running down his face. “Master, pl-please—” The chains were dropped, and his words melted into a fit of coughs. He shuddered, every visible muscle still tense and strained.

“Good boy.” Demyan’s expression was cold as he knelt down next to Victor, his face coming all the way, now, into the light. He grabbed Victor’s chin with a hand gloved in leather, forcing his face back up. The blue light cast strange shadows on his face, making him appear ghostly. Demonic. It deepened the black of his eyes into hollow things that might as well have been made of shadow themselves. “There’s no need for a safe word tonight, wouldn’t you agree?” His voice was smooth and low, as deep as the blackest midnight. The very same voice that had rendered Yuuri defenseless and frozen all those weeks ago, a voice he’d never imagined he’d have to hear again.

_My chambers. Midnight._

The king of Sol smiled. “You know I’d never really hurt you.”

Victor’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he remained silent. His mouth opened, closed again while his chest heaved with every gulp of air he inhaled. Demyan released his chin and stood, circling around him like a vulture. The tension had been leeched from Victor’s body, shoulders slumped and head bowed, eyes cast down to the floor.

Demyan snapped his fingers the way Yuuri had seen Victor do a hundred times. The chains moved, lifting the wooden structure-and Victor along with it-closer to the ceiling, forcing the god into a standing position.

Yuuri wanted to throw up—might have actually done so if he were back in his body. This couldn’t be happening. This didn’t make any _sense._ He turned to Chris, sure that the horror he felt was etched onto every facet of his face. “This can’t be right.”

Chris made a face. “I wish that were true, but...” He nodded back at the memory. “He’s about to place the curse, you’d better keep looking.”

“Keep looking! I don’t—there’s no way I—” He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip hard enough that it might have drawn blood if he were still corporeal. Chris was right. He had already said he wasn’t allowed to interfere, so it had to be him. It had to be Yuuri.

“Okay,” he said, opening his eyes to meet Chris’s. “Okay, but I think—” He had to be strong. He had to, he had to. “I think we need to get closer.”

Chris nodded as if he had been waiting for Yuuri to say just that, and he propelled them around to position them behind Victor, where Demyan was running a fingernail down the god’s spine. “This won’t hurt a bit,” he said, pulling a small cloth pouch from his pocket with his free hand while the other continued to stroke Victor’s back. It might have seemed soothing, under different circumstances. “Not if you’re strong enough.”

Yuuri watched while Demyan untied the pouch, dipping a finger in and pulling it back out black and covered in something that resembled ash. He watched, wide-eyed, as the man drew the heart binding symbol in quick, sure movements on Victor’s back. He watched him toss the pouch aside when he was done, watched him place his hand almost gently over the symbol while his other hand reached up to stroke Victor’s hair in some sort of twisted imitation of a lover’s caress.

Victor, despite everything, leaned into that touch. Even as his glow dimmed further, even as pain and confusion contorted his features, he leaned toward that soft, gentle lie.

Yuuri had never been one to give in to hatred, but right then his heart was pounding like it wanted to be let loose. His face burned and his arms shook and he wanted to reach through the barrier of time, wanted to free Victor before any of this had ever happened and he wanted to see Demyan ruined, wrecked, destroyed. He wanted to bring back the god’s glow tenfold, bring it back along with his smile—his genuine smile, the one that crinkled at the corners of his eyes and shone off of him like sparks of silver magic. And he wanted to watch Demyan burn. 

Palm flat against Victor’s back, Demyan leaned forward until his mouth was against Victor’s ear, and he smiled. “You’ll always love me, won’t you?”

Before Victor could reply, Demyan pressed his palm down harder, digging his nails into pale skin. His smile stretched until it was all teeth and his eyes were wide and wild with delight. And as he pressed down, he released the fire.

Victor’s back arched as flames raged against his skin, concentrated on the one spot where the symbol was drawn. The scream that tore from his throat was inhuman, the most painful sound Yuuri had ever heard in his life. It was worse than the gouge in his chest when he had been attacked, worse than any single ounce of the anxiety or loneliness he had ever felt. It was worse than dying. He wanted it to stop, he _needed_ it to stop.

He screamed Victor’s name, screamed it until his own throat was raw, but the image in front of him was already shaking, distorting. Chris was pulling them out.

Darkness pounded and howled around them like a great tornado, and it was all Yuuri could do to keep hold of the staff.

Black consumed him, but only for a moment. And then light flared to life, the library solidifying around him alongside the worried faces of Chris and Yurio. They looked down at him as if he might break—as if only just realizing he might not be strong enough for the task ahead.

Yuuri rolled over, shakily lifting himself onto all fours, and vomited onto the carpet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a fun fact nobody asked for: All the chapter titles are the names of various songs that inspired me to write each chapter. I did this because I thought it would be Clever and Quirky, but in reality it just resulted in chapter titles that are Confusing and Irrelevant to the Story Much of the Time. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!!


	17. Empty Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, credit to Yammerss for beta-ing!!

The first thing Victor noticed upon waking was the cold. Opening bleary, sleep-clouded eyes to an empty room, he found himself shivering, every piece of him wishing to chase that frozen feeling away. It hung in the air, penetrated his rather thick blanket and layered itself like snow on his skin, over his bones.

The second thing he noticed was the absence of a certain weight on his chest, one that, it seemed, he had gotten used to over the past few months.

Panic swept through him in an instant, sharpening his senses until everything in the room seemed painfully bright, until he felt more awake than he had been in a long time. He scrambled to sit up, shoving blankets to the floor in his haste. _No, no, no._

He reached for the pendant as he moved, fear clawing its way up his spine as his hand grasped Yuuri’s soul, as he pulled the chain taut until it broke. _No, no, please no._

Victor’s mouth went dry. The pendant was dead. There was no longer a pulse, no blue light. He held what was left in his palm: nothing but a thin layer of something white and papery—more fragile, by far, than glass. His chest constricted. The panic moved to his lungs, shortening his breaths into rapid staccato bursts of pain. _No, no, Yuuri, no, please come back._

There was no response; he felt himself choking. What the hell was going on? He could barely think as anguish ripped through him. Yuuri couldn’t be dead, there was no way. It wasn’t possible. It made no _sense._

“Please,” he said out loud, climbing to his knees on his bed. Goosebumps dotted his exposed skin and he knew, vaguely, that the air in his room was far too cold for midsummer. He bowed his head over his hands, told himself this had to be a dream. He wanted to move, to run out of the room, but dread rooted him to the spot. “Please, stars, somebody help.” He repeated the words like a prayer, though he had no one at whom to direct them.

Then all at once, a flare of life, a surge of light, and Yuuri was back. Victor let out a strangled gasp, bowing his head over the soul as he tried to breathe, tried to calm his frantic heart. Yuuri was still alive. He was still here, his soul beating against Victor’s palm as if it had never left.

And perhaps it hadn’t. Perhaps Victor was simply out of his mind at last.

He tucked the pendant under his shirt, repairing the chain with a thought. He kept a hand flat against it for a few moments more. If nothing else, to reassure himself that he wasn’t imagining it, that steady warmth. He could feel his own heartbeat against his fingers, racing and insistent.

And then, without warning, Victor’s panic was replaced with anger. It was an anger he had learned to live with over the past few years—a feeling he had to actively smother every single day if he ever wanted to get anything done. Right then, he wasn’t sure which was easier to deal with; the hopelessness, or the rage that threatened to burn him from the inside.

Yuuri was going to die, eventually. Victor knew that. Sooner, probably, rather than later. He was a human, and would live out a human’s lifespan. That amount of time was nothing to Victor, it was true. But stars, he could still feel the sharp edge of that fear punctuating his every breath, and it made him angry. After all, he had no reason—no _right_ —to be worried about Yuuri. He wasn’t supposed to care at all. He wasn’t _allowed._

Victor frowned, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so he could stand. Where had that thought come from? He was _allowed_ to do anything he wanted, wasn’t he? Shaking his head, he told himself it didn’t matter. Maybe he cared for Yuuri, but it wasn’t anything real. It wasn’t anything that mattered.

The only reason he even saved Yuuri in the first place, he told himself, was because of his sense of duty as a god.

Something flashed in Victor’s mind—a memory; blue light and air thick with magic; Yuuri’s eyes and puffs of seeds that fell like snow. He pushed the memory aside before it could really form, his head too muddled, too hazy to think about things that didn’t matter. He could think about it later. For now, he had business to attend to.

It seemed someone on the edge of his forest was calling for him.

 

* * *

 

  
Yuuri closed his eyes, staying as still as he possibly could to make sure he was finished throwing up. His throat was raw, his chest ached. He didn’t think he’d ever felt quite so sick in his entire life.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said, opening his eyes to look up at Chris and Yurio. The former looked a tad uncomfortable, the latter simply disgusted. “We have to tell Victor.”

“We already talked about this,” Yurio snapped. “There’s no way in hell.”

“Please.” Yuuri spit some vomit onto the floor, eyes watering. He knew it was foolish, and he knew he would likely change his mind once the nausea subsided, but… “This isn’t okay anymore. All of this—everything we’re doing—”

“Is all for Victor,” Yurio growled, baring his teeth. It was the first time Yuuri had ever seen a fae look like an animal, like the cruel creatures humans often made them out to be. “You stupid, _weak_ human. I knew you wouldn’t be able to do this. You spineless piece of—”

“It _isn’t okay,_ ” Yuuri shouted, smashing his fist on the floor. He knew he probably looked like a petulant child, but he didn’t care. Not right now. “We’re supposed to just keep Victor out of this? How long is that supposed to be possible? For fuck’s sake, it’s _his body_ , isn’t it?” Nobody spoke. Even Yurio looked surprised at Yuuri’s outburst, at his language.

He sat up, head spinning with the motion. Part of him knew he wasn’t thinking straight, that his emotions were running high because of what he’d just seen. But something had opened up in his chest—something painful and angry.

“Look, I’m nobody.” He kept his eyes to the floor, waiting for Yurio to say something crude, but the insults didn’t come. Chris stood to the side, facing away from them both. “I’m nobody,” he confirmed, “but how would you feel? If _you_ were going through everything he’s going through and not even knowing why? He’s _suffering_. You’ve known him for a long time, but I’ve lived with him. I’ve seen his pain and I’ve witnessed his anger and his sadness and _gods_ ,”—Yuuri’s voice broke on that last word—”doesn’t he have a right to know?”

Yurio was scowling, but his voice was surprisingly gentle as he answered. “We don’t know what will happen if we tell him. It could trigger something in the curse, or the old man could find out. It’s too risky.”

Yuuri didn’t have an answer for that. He sat up on his heels, a hand to his stomach. That might have been true, but maybe there was a way around it. Maybe they could figure something else out…

“What you’re trying to do is admirable, Yuuri,” Chris spoke up, turning at last to face him. “But it’s pointless, and incredibly naive. This is the realm of gods, or has your time in this castle—your time with Victor—made you forget?” Yuuri opened his mouth to answer, but Chris held up a silencing hand. “Human emotions have little space amongst the decisions of immortals. When it comes down to it, logical, long-term solutions are the only ones that make sense. You can’t understand, Yuuri. Especially living here with Victor, who likes to pretend he was never one of us.” The god raised a brow, though there was something like sadness in his eyes. “You’re far too human to make decisions like this on your own.”

Yuuri’s mouth fell open, but he couldn’t speak; he had nothing to say.

Yet something tugged at his gut—something ancient and weighty. A feeling he couldn’t totally explain.

Chris turned, began to walk toward the door. “I’ll be leaving now, if your need for me is over.”

Yuuri’s fists clenched. He inhaled sharply through his nose, exhaled a shaky breath from his mouth. All his life, he’d taught himself to ignore gut feelings, to ignore his instincts. Dealing with anxiety had forced him to overlook those things because anxiety is a lie that feels like fear. But he thought this was different, somehow. This was something Yuuri wanted to trust.

“You’re wrong,” he said softly.

Chris stopped, looked back over his shoulder coolly. “Am I?” His tone was flat, but Yuuri could have sworn he saw the god’s lips twitch, just barely.

“This is different,” Yuuri said. He was seething now, though he knew, bitterly, that most of his anger was directed toward Demyan. “This is Victor’s _life._ If we keep this a secret from him—the fact that we’re just letting him fight through this alone—how are we any different than that monster?”

Chris stared at him for a long, measuring moment, then he turned once again, waving his free hand as he did so. “Do whatever you’d like,” he said. “I can’t interfere, remember?”

The door closed behind him, and Yuuri’s certainty wavered. From what Yurio had read, it would take months to concoct the counter-curse even if everything went smoothly. Then again, what were mere months to an immortal? Perhaps Chris was right. Maybe Yuuri had spent too much time treating Victor as if he, too, were human. Perhaps his idolization of the god had been clouding his senses.

Perhaps he really was being naive.

“Victor’s situation sucks,” Yurio said when Chris was gone. “Nobody is disagreeing with you about that. And yeah, sure, he has a right to know, maybe. But like you said. It’s his _life_. It’s better to be careful.” He wrinkled his nose. “I hate to agree with Chris about anything, but you’re being an idiot.”

Yuuri was pretty sure that wasn’t exactly what Chris had said, but he kept his mouth shut. Either way, the immortal, time-traveling god probably knew best. He was right. Yuuri didn’t like it, but he was right. It was better to keep all this a secret, no matter how much it pained him to do so. It made sense. Logically.

“And could you clean that up?” Yurio snapped, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the mess on the floor.

Yuuri nodded, feeling a bit dazed. For a moment, he considered trying to deal with the problem using magic, like Victor often did, when he snapped his fingers and his problems disappeared without a trace. His physical ones, anyway. The issue with that was the fact that Yuuri had never tried something like that before, and he had no idea what happened to the things Victor snapped away. Did they completely disappear? Or were they simply moved to a new location?

In the end, Yuuri left the library to fetch a rag and a bucket of water, returning to clean up his mess even though his stomach still felt as if it might revolt at any second.

“So what was it?” Yurio asked after a while, crossing his ankles.

Yuuri stopped scrubbing to sit back on his heels. The rag didn’t seem to be doing much for the carpet. He would have to ask Victor to snap it away, later. “What was what?”

“The last ingredient.” Yurio said irritably. “What was it?”

Ah. That. Somehow, mind tangled with other thoughts of Victor, he had nearly forgotten.

“Fire,” he said, that new yet increasingly familiar anger starting again in his gut. “The last ingredient was fire.”

 

* * *

  
  
Victor appeared a fair distance away from the human who was praying to him, leaning against a tree to clear his mind and assess the situation. He had guessed who it would be the moment he felt the pull of the prayer, and his assumption proved to be correct in the form of a certain friend of Yuuri’s, hunched over the low stone wall that separated Victor’s domain from the rest of the world. The man had his eyes closed, and his whispers reached Victor’s ears even from so far away: “god of the forest, if you can hear me, please, give me a sign.”

It was a strange sensation, being prayed to. One Victor hadn’t truly felt in quite some time. Not since Yuuri had called out to him when his life was in danger, and certainly not for years and years before that.

“Brother of Yuuri,” Victor drawled, unmoving. Phichit started, eyes snapping open to reach his across the distance. “Is this enough of a sign for you?”

The man said nothing, which was irritating. That awed and daunted expression—Victor didn’t deserve it. Not with the way his powers had been waning lately. “If you don’t need me, I’ll go.”

“Wait!” Phichit cried, hands resting on something Victor hadn’t noticed before. Some kind of trunk, large enough that it must have been a real pain for a human to haul all the way out here. “Wait, please.”

“What do you want?” Victor snapped. “I’ve answered your prayer against my better judgment. So spit it out.”

The man’s bottom lip quivered, and it was real fear Victor saw in his eyes. He thought it took a good amount of bravery for the man to continue to meet his stare. Phichit licked his lips. “Yuuri is alive, isn’t he?”

Victor sighed, more annoyed than anything else. He had guessed this too, this question. “No,” he said. Too harsh, too loud. “As far as you or the rest of the world is concerned, Yuuri Katsuki is dead.”

Phichit swallowed. A breeze blew through the man’s hair, mussed it up so that the black strands were brushed away from his forehead. From the puffiness under his eyes and the red that rimmed them, Victor wondered how long the man had been crying. “I know he’s supposed to be dead, but… I also know he isn’t.”

Victor said nothing, but that was a kind of answer in itself. A confession.

Phichit breathed out, as if a part of him hadn’t really been sure. “C-can I see him?”

“Out of the question.”

Phichit flinched, which Victor wasn’t expecting. He recalled, suddenly, what Yuuri had said before, that he had a reputation for being cruel. He smoothed down his features, hoping it might make him look less menacing.

“I-I understand,” Phichit stammered. “Please, can you give him this for me then?” He hauled the trunk over the wall, grunting.

Victor wasn’t sure if that was really such a good idea, but he nodded anyway. The wall, though, was outside his jurisdiction. “Bring it here.”

From the way Phichit’s eyes widened, it was clear that he would rather do anything else. But he dragged the thing as close to Victor as he dared before backing away as quickly as he could, bowing as low as he could. “Thank you.”

Victor snapped his fingers and the trunk disappeared, transported back to his own room in his castle. Phichit’s head remained down, but Victor hesitated before leaving.

“How did you know?” he said softly.

“I’m not sure,” Phichit admitted, softer still. “Maybe I could feel it, or maybe I really was just in denial, hoping for a miracle.” A tear dropped to the ground, rendering the soft brown of the dirt a darker shade. “I’m just glad he’s alive.”

Victor’s frown followed him home, followed him through the air as he moved through the wind, back to the castle, back to his bedroom. As did Phichit’s final request, whispered on the wind of Victor’s departure: “Please take care of him.”

Wasn’t that what he was doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Nobody Asked for Part 2: This fic was originally inspired by the 2004 Phantom of the Opera film. Don’t ask how it became what it is today, I have no answer. I was just like ‘hmm, yes, Victor has to be Trapped, and he has to be Sad.’ And then it just. Evolved, I guess. The original story was going to be a lot darker and real sad, but this is what happened instead, cos I couldn’t bring myself to hurt them quite that much ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	18. Even the Darkest Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you to Yammerss for beta reading this chapter ♡＾▽＾♡

When Yuuri went to check on Victor that night, his room was empty.

Dejected and more than a little worried, he made his way to his own bedroom for the night, wondering where Victor had gone, hoping he was safe. Chris’s words were still ringing in his head, and he reminded himself that Victor was a _god._ Of course he was safe.

Of course he was.

He was so lost inside his head he didn’t see Victor until he had almost reached him, but he felt his presence well before he looked up to see the god standing outside his bedroom door. He felt the anger and power that rolled off of him in equal measure, felt the raw magic emanating from his skin.

“Yuuri,” he said. His voice sounded uncertain, surprisingly. But he cleared his throat and tried again, much more assured this time: “I’ve got something for you.”

A wave of relief washed over Yuuri that the god was there—that he was alive and coherent and _safe_. He wanted to run to him, to hug him until he could convince himself fully that Victor really was okay, to feel those same strong arms that had carried him only a day earlier tighten around him, to feel him return the embrace. Instead, Yuuri opened his door without a word, worried that he might say something stupid if he opened his mouth. His head was too full of emotion— _human_ emotion—for him to be trusted.

But halfway into the room Victor was there, behind him, against him, resting his forehead on Yuuri’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms around his waist. Instinctively, Yuuri grasped Victor’s forearms, turning his head to touch it to Victor’s.

“Yuuri,” Victor mumbled against his neck. His heart thudded, and he hoped desperately that Victor couldn’t hear it. “Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri.”

Yuuri swallowed, mouth suddenly very, very dry. “V-Victor, what’s wrong?”

“You’re here,” is what Yuuri thought he heard, though he couldn’t be completely sure with the way Victor’s voice was muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

He was probably still feverish, he decided. Though his skin didn’t feel particularly warm against Yuuri’s cheek. “Of course I am. Where else would I be?”

Victor went completely still, then pulled away, leaving Yuuri feeling strangely cold.

“Nowhere,” Victor said. Yuuri turned to him, a thousand questions on his tongue, but they all evaporated when they were face to face. The god looked almost… angry. Shadows seemed to swirl around him, coming off his skin like steam.

“You said you had something for me,” Yuuri said in lieu of the things he really wanted to ask: How was Victor really feeling? Why— _how_ —did he think Yuuri would ever leave? What exactly was on his mind?

The god flinched, and those shadows dispersed a bit. He snapped his fingers and a trunk appeared in the middle of the room— _Yuuri’s_ trunk, he realized. He dropped to his knees immediately, unlatching the top to stare at his own clothes and shoes and his old glasses that were, somehow, still intact. Gods above, how had Victor managed to get ahold of this?

“Phichit brought it to the wall,” Victor said, as if he had read Yuuri’s mind. “He said he’s glad you’re still alive.”

Yuuri wanted to laugh or maybe cry, or both at once. It was exactly like Phichit, to say something so trivial at such a vital moment. He picked up his glasses and put them on, finally able to turn off that small bit of magic he was constantly using to see. Holy hell, that felt better. But the ache in his chest was growing, the ache that came from missing his best friend, being unable to talk to him or see him. Maybe Victor would let him, someday, once this whole Demyan thing was dealt with.

“Yuuri, what is it you see when you look at me?”

The question took Yuuri off guard, as did the tone with which Victor had spoken. He looked up, frowning. He had never seen the god look more resolute, or more frightening.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said,” Victor snapped, reaching his arms out to either side. His brows were drawn together, lips pursed in a thin line. “What do you see?”

Biting his lip, Yuuri sat back and looked, _really_ looked. He felt as if he were being tested, as if Victor’s question was some sort of trick. In any case, the only thing he could do was be as honest as possible, wasn’t it?

What did he see? He saw power, of course—even if it was dulled it still seemed to roll off of him in waves of starlight that combated his own darkness, like he was warring with himself somehow. He saw strength, even if that, too, were dulled into something softer, something a bit more tame. He saw fear—not in his expression, but in the tension of his limbs as he tried to hold them still, in the set of his jaw and the spark in his eye. He saw a man that had loved, so deeply and so fiercely that it had nearly ruined him. He saw fire and lightning and starlight; wind and rain and magic.

“I see Victor,” Yuuri said simply. There was really no other way he could have answered.

Victor, though, only looked more troubled. He seemed to sag a bit, as if that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting, or maybe it wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for. He sat at the edge of Yuuri’s bed, and suddenly he looked much younger—much more human.

Yuuri stared up at him from where he knelt on the floor, wondering what Victor would have liked to hear instead. Victor looked back, and his eyes widened momentarily before he rubbed at them with the heels of his hands. “Damn it Yuuri, take those off, _please._ ”

Yuuri blinked, surprised at Victor’s sudden fit of temper. He took his glasses off anyway, set them to the side in confusion. What was that about?

“I came here to ask you something else, actually,” Victor said after a bout of silence, during which Yuuri had resumed the unpacking of his trunk.

“What’s that?” he answered, keeping his eyes on his things lest Victor’s temper let loose again.

“Hold on,” Victor said, standing and making his way to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Yuuri shook his head. He knew Victor was most likely still feeling the affects of his most recent bout of fever, and he knew the god must be in pretty bad shape. At least his temper hadn’t manifested itself too badly. Yuuri couldn’t help but remember the very first time it had happened, when Victor had yelled at him, shaken him by the collar. _All that magic at your fingertips and you’re telling me you can’t do a damned thing with it?_

Yuuri’s fingers suddenly itched to practice, to show Victor just how much he could do. Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted to impress him, even just a little. He wanted to prove that he was worth— _something_ , at least. It had been a while since Victor had taught him anything new, and Yuuri missed it. He missed it a lot.

He felt a twist in his gut as he unfolded the orange costume from his performance for the king. For Demyan. The thought sent nausea roiling through him again and he tossed the thing under his bed, kicked at it until the soft material was no longer visible. Gods. He had _danced_ for _Demyan_.

“Victor isn’t in his room,” came a sudden rough voice from the doorway.

“He was just here,” Yuuri answered, shaking thoughts of Demyan from his head. He turned to the blond fae, who had let himself into Yuuri’s room without preamble. “He’ll be right back, I think.”

“Should he really be up walking around?”

Yuuri suppressed a smile, rising from the floor only to sit back down on his bed. Even though Yurio’s voice was harsh and angry—it was sweet, really, how much he cared for Victor. “Probably not, but he seems… lucid, at least.”

Yurio scoffed, narrowed his eyes. “Remember what we talked about,” he warned, and Yuuri’s smile disappeared.

“I won’t tell him,” Yuuri promised.

“Yurio, you’re here,” Victor stated as he walked past the fae, ignoring his cries of _bastard, don’t call me that_! and came to stand in the center of the room. “Good. I need to talk to you too.” In his hands Victor held a leather pouch, and from the pouch he pulled a small stack of paper. Despite his curiosity Yuuri wondered why Victor had left the room to fetch them, why he didn’t just magic them in. “This is about our annual inspection of the cave systems of Noct.”

Yurio’s wings fluttered. “Oh, is it that time of year already?” From the delight in the fae’s voice as well as the way he seemed to be trying hard not to smile, Yuuri thought that the question seemed like a bluff. What was it about a bunch of caves that had his mood changing so drastically?

Victor turned to Yuuri, but he didn’t meet his eyes. “At the end of every summer I have to do a round of inspections,” he explained. “To make sure the forest is running efficiently, things like that.” Yuuri’s brows raised slightly, amused. The way Victor talked about it, it sounded as if he were talking about a machine rather than a living forest. _Running efficiently in what way?_ he wanted to ask. _What are you going to do exactly, oil the trees? Wipe the rust from the leaves? Wind up the squirrels?_

“It’ll be coming up soon,” Victor continued, “so I was wondering—I wanted to know if you’d like to come along?”

His expression was unreadable, and directed at the floor, but Yuuri suspected he knew what was on his mind. After all, he had told him just the other day: the forest was dying. And it was directly related to Victor’s lessening magic.

“Of course I’d like to come,” Yuuri answered immediately, feeling much more sober all of a sudden.

“Good. That’s settled, then.” Victor handed the papers to Yurio, who frowned as he looked through them. Feeling guilty that he’d never thought to ask before, Yuuri wondered what Yurio’s job was. He obviously worked for Victor, somehow.

“Victor—” Yurio started, quite clearly troubled by whatever it was he had read, but Victor shook his head.

“I know,” the god said. “I don’t want to talk about it tonight. I’ll answer your questions in the morning.”

With that, Yurio stood and stretched, then left the room with a quick " _night_ " directed at nobody in particular.

What had _that_ been about? Yuuri wanted to ask, but Victor had already said he didn’t want to talk about it, so he held his tongue.

Alone with Victor once again, a heavy silence filled the room. It was clear the god wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, Yuuri spoke up. “You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” Victor said, too quickly.

Okay then. “What is the cave system of Noct?” Yuuri tried, scooting over on his bed and patting the spot beside him. An invitation. Victor took it after a moment of hesitation.

“The cave systems,” Victor corrected. “They house some of my more… eccentric citizens. And every once in a while they get infested with bloodthirsty vermin—beasts. It’s my job to make sure things like that are being taken care of.” The corners of Victor’s lips quirked up, just barely. “A certain friend of Yurio’s is in charge of that. He’s always done a fine job, which is why these inspections only need to be done once a year. Just to make sure everything is being run smoothly.”

Yuuri nodded, raising a brow at _a certain friend of Yurio’s_. The implication was clear—no wonder the young fae had been so excited.

“As for Noct, well,” Victor continued, smile widening a bit. “You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

 

* * *

 

  
In the month between that night and the coming inspection, Yuuri’s magic lessons resumed.

Though Victor was sometimes cross he hadn’t fully lost his temper since he’d been sick, and after a while Yuuri stopped expecting it to happen. The god was patient, and he was kind enough. But he was subdued. The easy smiles he had showed Yuuri the first few months he had been there were few and far between, and he always seemed to be staring off into the distance. But whenever Yuuri followed his gaze, there was nothing to be found.

Yuuri’s magic skills had improved a hundred fold since the beginning, but he had trouble getting too excited about it. He was distracted by the aura of gloom that hung around Victor like a cloud of fog; distracted by that dazed, dark look in his eyes.

During that time, Yurio also went about starting on the countercurse. It seemed pretty straightforward to Yuuri: a countercurse, in this particular case, could be created by mixing the ingredients in backwards order and then drawing the symbol in reverse. The ingredients needed were common enough, but the quantities and methods of combination were incredibly specific—one wrong amount or a mere _second_ of overboiling or oversteeping would render the entire concoction useless.

The biggest problem Yuuri faced, however, was the fire.

Yurio explained it to him one warm afternoon as the two of them sat on the front steps of the castle: all the power in any decent curse came from the casting.

“It’s not really about the ingredients,” he said. The fae had gathered a bundle of clovers from the grass at the bottom of the stairs, and was now absently twining them together. Victor was gone—he had made it a habit to disappear for days on end, and Yuuri couldn’t even begin to guess where he kept going off to. “It has everything to do with the power the caster has over their chosen element. Demyan—” Yurio wrinkled his nose in disgust at the name “—must have had some sort of affinity for fire. He most likely chose that element because he had so much power over it, which would make the curse especially strong.”

Yuuri shuddered. The memory of watching that wretched king place the curse was still fresh in his mind, even several weeks later. Despite himself, and despite the forever lingering nausea that came about whenever Yuuri thought of the king, he found himself curious. “How would someone else cast the curse,” he asked, “if they weren’t good with fire?”

Yurio shrugged, not looking up from his clovers. “It depends on the type of curse, but heart binding seems to be the kind that requires penetration of the skin.” Yuuri’s eyes widened at that. Penetration of the skin? “If he’d had an affinity for water, he could have used ice; an affinity for earth and he could have used thorns. It doesn’t matter, really. As long as the symbol mixes with flesh and blood and magic.”

Yuuri wanted to retch, but instead he allowed himself to feel hopeful, if only for a moment. “Does that mean I can use water to break the curse? Since it’s kind of like the opposite of fire?” And since it was really the only thing he was good at, though he didn’t voice that last part aloud.

Yurio shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, human. That’s not how this works.”

Yuuri let out a breath, tipping his head back to look up at the mid-summer sky. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy. He stared at the few drifting clouds before turning to ask: “How do you know so much about curses, anyway?”

“My grandpa,” the fae answered, rather proudly. “When he was my age he was in charge of dispelling curses all over the continent. That kind of magic is against all of our laws, you know.” Yurio, having finished fashioning the clovers into a crown, placed it atop his own head. “Although, you also have to be pretty damned skilled to cast one in the first place. Most of the curses he lifted were small and poorly done.”

“I don’t suppose your grandpa’s hunts extended to humans,” Yuuri wondered.

Yurio snorted. “Of course not. Mortal bullshit is hardly any of our concern. You all live short enough lives that anything you choose to do will never affect us.” He shot Yuuri a pointed look. “Well, most of the time, anyway.”

“But Demyan’s a human, and he was able to place such a powerful curse on Victor...” Not to mention, _Yuuri_ was human.

“If you’re worried about your own skills, knock it off,” Yurio snapped, starting another clover chain. “He’s human, you’re human. You can do it. It isn’t like you’re dealing with fae magic here.”

“But Victor is a _god_ ,” Yuuri said, as if Yurio could forget. “A human casting such a strong curse on a god? Can I—can I really beat that?” Could he really compare to whatever raw power Demyan had? Especially if, as Yurio had guessed before, he had somehow stolen an amount of Victor’s powers?

But Yurio’s fingers did not fumble as he finished his second clover crown, and he seemed relatively at ease. “You’ll have to. And if not?” He shrugged, placing the crown in Yuuri’s hands—a strangely touching gesture. The fae’s voice was light as he met Yuuri’s gaze, but the anger and intensity in his eyes wasn’t. “We’ll have to kill him.”

When the day to leave finally came, Yurio was practically glowing with excitement, which seemed to amuse Victor at least a little. Yuuri was glad of the god’s improved mood but felt, selfishly, a bit upset that _he_ hadn’t been able to cheer Victor up this whole time.

“Someone’s excited,” Yuuri said, eyeing the enormous bag Yurio had packed for their three day trip.

There was no mistaking the pink that tinged the young man’s cheeks at Yuuri’s words. “I’m not! Noct just has—the hot springs are really—you know? Uh—”

“Are we ready to go?” Victor interrupted with a small smile. Yurio looked relieved, to say the least, but to Yuuri’s surprise he didn’t look angry. He must really have been looking forward to seeing this friend of his, Yuuri thought. Victor held out a hand to Yuuri, who took it without hesitation. It might have been pathetic, but he would have taken any opportunity to touch Victor, to hold his hand. He hoped his shameful blush wasn’t too obvious, especially when Yurio took hold of the god’s other hand.

“Hold on tight,” Victor said. “Transportation is brutal on the body, but you’re going to need to keep conscious. Losing you halfway to the caves would be… less than ideal.”

“I’ll stay awake,” Yuuri promised.

He peeked up at Victor, who met his eye immediately. His expression softened, and he smiled—a genuine one, finally. “Swear?” he said.

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat. Emboldened by Victor’s reaction, he answered: “On your life and mine.”

The delight in the god’s eyes could have lit up the night sky by itself, Yuuri thought.

Yurio gagged. “For fuck’s sake, let’s _go._ ”

And they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Yammerss, also, for that bit about the forest being like a machine and the oiling the trees and winding up the squirrels stuff!! Thank you for that hahahahaha （＾ｖ＾）


	19. The Cave Systems of Noct: Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks thanks to Yammers for beta-ing this chapter (＾ω＾)

  
The sensation of falling hit Yuuri harder than he had expected. The world blurred and pulsed around him—entirely unlike his smooth transition into the past with Chris—and it was all he could do to keep hold of Victor’s hand. He couldn’t be sure amidst the howling wind and the rush of his own heartbeat, but he thought he felt Victor’s hand squeeze his tighter.  
  
He felt, more than saw, the world around them recede, as if they were stepping out of reality altogether. It made his chest constrict and his lungs empty, his head spin so quickly he thought he might pass out. Then the world came back with a vengeance, and Yuuri fell to his knees with a gasp, hand ripped from Victor’s grip as the three of them slammed down onto a different sort of stone than that of Victor’s castle.  
  
It took a moment for him to catch his breath. They were somewhere dark—most likely inside the caves—though sunlight shone, crisp and white, from somewhere above. Odd sounds carried from below; the clinking of metal and the thump of something heavy being crushed by something heavier. There were also voices, but they were nearly impossible to make out over the cacophony of other noises. The world spun, or perhaps that was just Yuuri’s head.  
  
“Victor, why the hell are we at the top of the lift?” Yurio’s voice prompted Yuuri to open his eyes. He looked up at the fae youth, who looked mildly nauseous but mostly just annoyed. They were, indeed, inside a cave, judging from the dark stone around them. The light he had noticed earlier was shining through a rather large hole in the cavern’s ceiling. “We couldn’t be any farther from where Otabek told us to meet.”  
  
Yuuri’s eyes shifted to Victor, who was already looking down at him. He offered his hand with a smile that, if Yuuri wasn’t mistaken, seemed a bit relieved. “I thought Yuuri might like to see the city first,” he answered, pulling Yuuri to his feet. His stomach lurched, but he managed to right himself with Victor’s help.  
  
“City?”  
  
Victor’s eyes crinkled at the corners when his smile grew wider. He took a step back, making an arching gesture toward an enormous drop in the cave Yuuri hadn’t noticed before--had Victor transported them directly to the edge of a _cliff_? That didn’t seem safe. “Yuuri,” he said, “welcome to Noct.”  
  
Tentatively, Yuuri took a step forward. He had never been _afraid_ of heights, but a healthy fear of falling had always kept him away from anything taller than the crest of a hill. This time, however, his fear was pushed to the side as he stepped closer, and the city of Noct was revealed before his eyes.  
  
Warm lights from the scattered lanterns and lamp posts below winked at him like stars against the grey of the surrounding chamber. But as his eyes adjusted buildings took clear shape, and Yuuri realized that the city was actually _massive_ , extending far past where he could see and disappearing somewhere deeper into the darkness.  
  
Upon further inspection, Yuuri realized that some of the structures were built directly into the stone itself. He wondered exactly how that worked. A huge tower jutted from the midst of the buildings, lit up by what must have been thousands of lanterns somehow attached to the outside. The windows, too, boasted warm golden light of their own, and even from here he could see shapes moving inside them.  
  
The strange noises could still be heard, but it was impossible to tell where they were coming from.  
  
“Wow,” Yuuri breathed. “It’s amazing.”  
  
Victor appeared beside him, and when Yuuri looked at him his smile seemed to have taken on a sort of heart shape, though just barely. Yuuri bit his lip. He couldn’t decide which was more stunning—the view at his feet or the god at his side, who was looking at him with a sort of playfulness he hadn’t seen in a long time. He looked almost carefree, except for that strange heaviness that never seemed to leave his eyes these days.

Yuuri was acutely aware, suddenly, how close they were. Forget the city, he wanted to say. He wanted to stay here, watching Victor smile for as long as the sight presented itself. Gods, it felt like it had been so long.  
  
“Wait till you see the tunnels,” Victor said, “and the hot springs!” He looked absolutely delighted at the thought—eyes sparkling, smile wide. Scratch that earlier question, Yuuri thought. It was no contest which was more beautiful. “It’s still warm on the surface, but once you get far enough underground you’ll be praying for some heat.”  
  
“Yes, yes, the tunnels, the springs,” Yurio growled, pulling both the human and the god away from the edge of the cliff. “Let’s _go._ ” The fae ushered them—Victor chuckling good-naturedly and Yuuri stumbling, still a bit off balance from the trip—into a decidedly rickety looking wooden contraption. It was set up with rope that dropped and trailed off into the darkness below, and Yuuri’s stomach clenched. The thing lurched before it began its slow descent, and it took all of Yuuri’s willpower to reach for the wooden railing rather than Victor’s hand to steady himself.  
  
Apparently, Victor hadn’t just wanted Yuuri to see the city from afar—he had wanted him to experience it. The lift dropped them somewhere on the outskirts, but it was just as lively here on the edge as Yuuri’s entire village, perhaps even more so. On their way to meet Otabek in what Yurio described as “the godsdamned maze of tunnels,” they walked through some sort of market. People milled about—some fae like Yurio; some with long pointed ears and skin the color of various jewels; some shorter and gruffer looking, with dark grey horns curling atop their heads.  
  
None of them regarded Yuuri with distrust when they saw him, which was a little surprising. He wasn’t really regarded at all, in fact. He guessed it was to be expected, as Victor took most of the attention from everyone else, anyway. Those they passed looked at the god with a kind of reverence that seemed to make him uncomfortable, though Yuuri wondered if he were simply imagining it. Victor smiled and waved at everyone he passed, but Yuuri really thought there was a sort of tension to him that was different than his recent mood swings.  
  
He didn’t have much time to focus on Victor’s mood, with the pace at which Yurio was leading them through the city. He seemed to know exactly where to go, weaving expertly through the crowd. Yuuri—considerably slower due to his aversion for crowds—had to wonder exactly how much time Yurio spent here.  
  
That tall tower he had seen earlier was even larger than he had thought. It spiked up from somewhere in the center of the city, but even from so far away it loomed above them like a giant stalagmite. When Victor noticed him looking, he smiled, and told him that they would be rooming in that tower for the duration of their stay.  
  
Finally the throng of people thinned out, and Yuuri found himself in the entrance to a wall of dark. Instinctively, he stepped closer to Victor as the two of them followed Yurio into the tunnels. It wasn’t as if he were afraid of the dark, but this place was completely foreign to him, and from what Victor had said before, he knew wild beasts roamed around here. He wasn’t sure his magic would be strong enough to best one if it came upon them.  
  
Not that he had anything to worry about, with Victor there. No beast would be foolish enough to come near _him_ , Yuuri was pretty sure. He could feel the god’s magic, as he always could, like a tangible layer of moonlight filling the darkness. It was soft just then, and a bit more subdued than normal.  
  
Thinking of moonlight, Yuuri couldn’t help but remember the soft glow of Victor’s skin in his memory, before Demyan had cast the curse. Eyes having adjusted a bit, he cheated a glance in Victor’s direction. Just as he thought, there was nothing like that now.  
  
Ahead of them, Yurio had begun to fidget—smoothing his clothes with his palms and straightening the flower crown atop his head, straightening it again. Yuuri bit his lip to hide a smile. So, the fae boy got nervous too, then.  
  
“Oh, to be young again,” Victor said wistfully, and Yuuri had to laugh.  
  
“Aren’t you technically young forever?”  
  
Victor seemed thoughtful. “Maybe physically,” he said. “But not so far as experiencing things for the first time. Life and love, things like that.” His voice was soft, and held such warmth. But there was a catch present that might have sounded like simple tenderness had Yuuri not become so in tune with Victor’s moods. An undercurrent of something like regret. “Watching it happen to someone else just really makes me feel old.”  
  
Yuuri watched Yurio fuss with his crown some more. “To be honest, I don’t really know what you mean.” He felt Victor’s gaze land on him, but he didn’t turn. He chose his words carefully before he continued. “My life has been good—I’m not denying that at all. But most of my firsts have been overshadowed by 'what ifs'. When I first started dancing, all I could think about was how everyone was better than me and what if I wasn’t any good and what if I failed and had to go home. After my first kiss I convinced myself I’d done so badly that I didn’t approach another man for two years.”  
  
He held in a sigh and tried for a laugh. It came out flat. “As for love, I’ve never—nobody has ever been in love with me, so…” Yuuri wouldn’t say this out loud, not just then. But he wouldn’t be surprised if that particular first never came for him.  
  
“Ha! I seriously doubt that, Yuuri.”  
  
Yuuri finally turned to Victor. His expression was a strange mix of incredulity and indignation, and Yuuri was unsure what it was doing on the god’s face.  
  
“Beka!” Yurio’s delight rang through the tunnels, startling Yuuri into taking his eyes off Victor. Up ahead, he watched the young fae’s wings flutter as he began to run, as if he wanted to fly but couldn’t in the small space. He stopped just shy of the man who had appeared from the shadows of the tunnel.  
  
From the way Yurio had been fidgeting in anticipation of this little reunion, Yuuri almost expected the boy to be shy or maybe even nervous. But he was just as bold as ever as he greeted his ‘certain friend,’ his smile wider and more genuine than Yuuri had ever seen.  
  
The dark-haired man nodded, reaching out to touch a single petal on Yurio’s flower crown. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said. His voice was low and gruff. As Yuuri neared, he noticed two small spiral horns poking out from the man’s mess of hair.  
  
The man, upon noticing he and Victor’s approach, turned to face them. “Victor,” he intoned in that deep voice of his. “Always an honor.” As he spoke, he bowed low, and a sudden horror dawned on Yuuri as he watched from the side: that particular sign of respect had never occurred to him. Shame coloring his face, he tried to remember whether or not he had ever bowed to the god, even when he was a child.  
  
“Please, I’ve told you there’s no need for that,” Victor said. He placed a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri’s breathing faltered for a moment at the unexpected contact. His hand was warm, sending odd tingles up and down the length of his spine. “This is Yuuri.” Yuuri’s chest swelled at the warmth in his voice. “He’s my—he’s my friend.”  
  
“Otabek. Pleasure to meet you.” A quirk of his brow and a quick, partially concealed glance at Yurio was the only expression that showed on his face. Yuuri looked toward the fae youth, who was examining his fingernails, clearly trying to seem like he was uninterested in the conversation. Otabek addressed Victor: “Shall I show him to his room?”  
  
Victor shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Yuuri will be coming with us.” His grip shifted on Yuuri’s arm as he turned to look at him. “That is, if he wants to.”  
  
Yuuri swallowed. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do, but his heartbeat had spiked as soon as he was hit with the notion of being alone anywhere within these caves. He was grateful for that comfortable point of contact between them keeping him calm—even if it was stirring up feelings he didn’t really want to think about.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “Please.”  
  
“Good,” Victor said. He removed his hand, and Yuuri shivered.  
  
Otabek nodded and began walking. The rest of the group followed. Yurio ran to catch up with their guide, who offered him a small smile as he began speaking in a soft voice, which Yurio answered loudly, as he was apt to do.  
  
_My friend._ Victor had said of Yuuri. It was a bittersweet word, friend.  
  
“Are you alright?” Victor said beside him, and Yuuri looked up to see genuine concern on the god’s face. It was strange, after so many weeks of being ignored.  
  
“I’m fine,” Yuuri promised. “I’m just—” He wasn’t about to tell Victor the truth, that he couldn’t stop thinking about him. That he hadn’t been lying when he had said nobody had ever been in love with him—that he wanted so badly for Victor to be his first, so godsdamned badly it hurt. That he wanted him to put his hand back on his shoulder or maybe in his own hand or maybe on his neck with his other hand caressing his cheek while they—  
  
The god watched him with growing concern as Yuuri stiffened, mortified by his own sequence of thoughts. Really, he needed to get a hold of himself.  
  
Thankfully, Otabek slowed down and brought up the report to Victor, and Yuuri was able to fall back and collect himself.  
  
“It’s gotten worse.” Otabek was saying, sounding mildly frustrated. “I don’t understand what’s got them so riled up.”  
  
“The beasts,” Victor explained to Yuuri. “It seems they’ve become agitated.” Yuuri just nodded. He remembered Victor mentioning something similar a few weeks before.  
  
Otabek made a noise that could have been a growl. “We’ve already had to clear out parts of the city. The things have destroyed several buildings already.”  
  
Victor’s relaxed demeanor shifted, and he frowned. “That’s new information. Which sectors?”  
  
“Four and five.”  
  
Victor nodded. “Yurio, do you still have that map?”  
  
Yurio grunted, pulling some sort of scroll from his pack. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it right here.”  
  
Victor took the map from Yurio’s hand. “We’ll have to make sure both sectors are completely abandoned before we go much further.”  
  
He had addressed Otabek, but the man’s steps had slowed. He stopped walking, pursed his lips. Everyone stopped to stare at him, confusion on Victor’s face and damning, flushing embarrassment on Yurio’s.  
  
The amusement wasn’t terribly obvious on Otabek’s face, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth was a dead giveaway. Like he was actively trying not to smile _. “Yurio?”_  
  
Victor looked from Otabek to Yurio, then he laughed outright, voice echoing throughout the cave. Some of the tension melted from his shoulders, and Yuuri wanted to cry. He felt sort of bad for Yurio, but gods, it was good to hear that laugh. Still, he pushed that impulse down—the one that made him want to reach out to Victor, to touch him. To be, somehow, part of his happiness.  
  
“It was a bit confusing,” Victor explained, winking at Yurio. “You know, two Yuris.”  
  
Otabek’s mouth was a thin line. “I see.”  
  
Yurio crossed his arms, scowling deeply. “For the record, I never agreed to this.”  
  
Otabek’s eyes seemed to light up when he turned them onto Yurio, who was very clearly still red even in the dim light. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, then Yurio turned on his heel. “I’ll lead us to the fourth sector,” he announced loudly, beginning to walk. With a small smile and a shake of his head, Otabek rushed to walk beside him. They began talking in hushed voices, Otabek complimenting the fae’s flowers, Yurio accepting the praise with a loud “of course they’re beautiful, _I_ grew them”, most likely trying to pretend he wasn’t still a furious shade of scarlet.  
  
Victor chuckled beside Yuuri, and they fell in step together, walking in companionable silence. Yuuri’s love situation wasn’t mentioned again, for which he was incredibly grateful. But now something else was weighing on his mind: he didn’t think he had ever showed Victor the respect he deserved as a god. Perhaps he should start bowing whenever they met, like Otabek had done.  
  
“Watch out!” Yurio’s sudden shout resounded in the echoing cave. Yuuri started, too surprised to move as he watched Yurio jump to push Otabek out of the way of some small brown creature that leaped from the shadows. Hissing, the creature lunged for Yurio instead, who raised his fists like he was planning on punching the thing in the face. Like he would stand any sort of chance against it.  
  
Otabek, who had stumbled from the force of Yurio’s shove, righted himself. He placed a hand on the wall of the cave, staring at the creature with murder in his eyes. A chunk of rock broke free, landing on top of the creature with a resounding smash. And all at once the fight was over.  
  
Yuuri, unknowingly, had stepped much closer to Victor. He moved back apologetically, but Victor only smiled briefly, told him it was fine. Then his troubled expression was back.  
  
Yurio kicked the creature, half crushed under Otabek’s rubble. “It’s dead,” he announced.  
  
Otabek placed a hand atop the fae’s head, smiling clearly now. “Thanks Yura. I could have been in some serious trouble.”  
  
Yurio smiled back, intensely and unabashedly, so different from the scowls and blushing Yuuri had come to expect. “Any time,” he said, and Yuuri had to look away, feeling like he was intruding upon a private moment.  
  
“That was the beast?” Yuuri asked.  
  
“Yes,” Otabek answered, eyes lingering on Yurio before he knelt down to pull the creature from under the rocks and heft the thing onto his shoulder. “Thank the gods it was a small one.”  
  
Victor’s hand was suddenly resting on Yuuri’s forearm. “Yuuri, I think it would be a good idea to go find your room after all. Get settled. Yurio can show you the way.”  
  
“What?” both Yuuri and the fae boy said at the same time.  
  
“Don’t worry, Yurio, you won’t miss any of the action. We won’t be searching for the nests until tomorrow.”  
  
Yuuri blanched. Nests? How many of those things were there?  
  
Yurio crossed his arms. “Then what _am_ I missing?”  
  
“Only boring things. I think it’s a good idea to make sure there aren’t any people anywhere near these tunnels. We’ll meet up again tomorrow to discuss the rest.”  
  
Otabek spoke up. “Wise,” he said. “My powers only go so far. Victor will be able to sense anyone I’ve missed.”  
  
Yurio uncrossed his arms, but he did not look thrilled at the prospect of being Yuuri’s babysitter. “Fine. Come on.”  
  
Yuuri looked up at Victor, who let go of his arm. “I’ll see you really soon.” His tone was apologetic, his voice soft. Yuuri suddenly felt much heavier, but he mustered up a smile and followed Yurio out of the tunnel, back the way from which they had come.  
  
“He seems happier when he’s away from that castle,” Yuuri said softly after a while. Yurio seemed to sag, but he did not answer. They walked in silence until they were out of the tunnels completely.  
  
Yurio led him toward the massive middle structure, greeting people with a curt nod as they greeted him. Everyone looked at Yuuri suspiciously now that Victor wasn’t there beside him, and tended to shift around him. Not that Yuuri minded too much. He still had Victor on the mind, as he usually did.  
  
“How much of Victor’s—uh—condition is known publicly?” he asked after a while.  
  
“None,” Yurio said with a shrug. “As far as they’re concerned, he’s the god of the forest and nothing more. He does his job well, after all.”

“None of them know about the—you know—”

“No.”   
  
“Why do _you_ know the truth?”  
  
At first Yuuri did not think Yurio would answer, but finally he said “My grandpa was called to remove the curse. I was still pretty young, but my gramps couldn’t do anything about it no matter how hard he tried.”

The two of them entered the building, which seemed to be some sort of giant inn. There were relatively few people walking the halls, for which Yuuri was grateful.

“He retired not long after that,” Yurio continued, “but I returned to work for Victor because I knew it killed my grandpa, that he couldn’t do anything. Here we are.”  
  
Yurio stopped in front of a large door, the number 002 painted in gold on the front.  
  
“See ya,” Yurio said, and he was gone by the time Yuuri turned to wish him good night.  
  
Sighing, Yuuri pushed his door open. The room was huge, and surprisingly fancy. But it lacked the hominess that he had come to associate with his room in Victor’s castle. It lacked his flowers and his bed, and the other personal touches Victor had provided for him. There was, however, a trunk filled with his clothes against the wall. He ignored it for now and sat down on his new bed, wondering what he should do next.

Before he knew it, he was waking up to a knock at his door. He didn’t remember falling asleep. There were several windows in the room, but the lack of natural light in the caves made the time of day impossible to guess.   
  
The door opened before Yuuri had time to stand. Luckily it was just Victor—not some murderous beast, as Yuuri’s anxiety had briefly convinced him it was. The god was smiling, but it was subdued. “Settling in, Yuuri?”  
  
Yuuri shivered, that familiar thrill shooting through him whenever Victor said his name. Especially like that. Especially so low and soft. He knew there was really nothing intimate about it, especially on Victor’s part. And yet…  
  
“Well enough,” Yuuri answered, picking at his bed sheets so he didn’t have to look at Victor.  
  
“Hey,” Victor’s voice was closer, now. Yuuri turned, and there was no escaping that gaze. “Are you sure you’re okay?”  
  
Yuuri swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Gods, he would never get tired of Victor’s face. It came with that same familiar feeling he always got when looking at something like the ocean, or the billowing clouds that often collected in swells above it. He thought now, as he often had back in Hasetsu when he used to gaze at the stars alone on cloudless nights, that there are some things that take your breath away, and there are some that take your heart.  
  
Victor already had his soul; Yuuri would have gladly surrendered his heart. Part of him knew that he already had. He felt it stirring every time he looked at him, he felt it with every smile and every gesture and every word he spoke.  
  
“I’m fine,” Yuuri insisted, but his voice was uneven. “I’m glad you’re smiling again.” The words escaped as if of their own accord, and Yuuri shut his mouth, tried desperately to look away. But Victor’s fingers found his chin, soft, searching, and Yuuri felt it again—that pull, a part of him reaching out to Victor, always. He cleared his throat. “I was getting worried.”  
  
Victor smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Yuuri couldn’t help but to smile back. “There’s nothing to be worried about,” Victor said, though now he withdrew, walking to the other side of the room and examining the tapestries lining the wall with a curious eye.  
  
Yuuri watched him, a familiar ache starting in his chest.  
  
\--  
  
Victor stared at the tapestry. He tried—he really did—to keep his eyes off of Yuuri. He failed spectacularly. His eyes, it seemed, wanted to meet Yuuri’s no matter what Victor’s reason told him. He’d smiled that adorable, confused smile, and Victor had to stand, to walk across the room and examine the wall as if whatever adorned the stone were more interesting than the human man. His eyes hardly registered whatever he was looking at. In truth, he could have sat next to Yuuri comfortably for a thousand years.  
  
The thought was a sour one. By then, Yuuri would be long dead. A pile of bone dust.  
  
Victor cast the thought from his mind, turning back to look at Yuuri. Damn. The man had put on his glasses and he was stretching, arms up in the air and chest puffed out, toes curled and chin just slightly turned over his shoulder. Cute. So cute it made him almost angry. His thick hair was messy as usual, and Victor wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through it. Soft, probably. Silky.  
  
“Care to take a walk with me?” The god flashed what he hoped was a carefree smile, though his heart rate increased tenfold at the way Yuuri was looking at him. Stop it, he told himself. Whatever this was—whatever he was feeling right then was an anomaly. He had been alone for so long he had forgotten how good it felt to spend time with someone else. Whatever feelings Yuuri brought out in him were simply born from loneliness, and nothing more.  
  
Once Demyan came back, he reasoned, everything would go back to normal.  
  
“What?”  
  
“The hot springs, Yuuri. Would you like to go?”  
  
Yuuri blinked, as if he were just waking up. “Y—yes! Yes, of course!”  
  
Victor extended a hand to pull him up, but let go as soon as he could, turning away so Yuuri couldn’t see the color in his cheeks. Damn it. What the hell was wrong with him?  
  
He tried to make small talk as he led Yuuri through the tower, but even he could tell it sounded forced.

“There are some better places we could go,” he said, “outside the city. But the springs here in the tower are safer.” If Victor had been feeling better, he would have taken Yuuri through the tunnels in an instant. But his heart was still beating unnaturally fast, emotions still rolling in his head in a confusing storm. Maybe he was sick. That would explain a lot.

No, that couldn’t be it, he told himself. Gods don’t get sick.  
  
Yuuri’s soul pulsed hard against his chest, and he stumbled.  
  
“Victor! Are you alright?”  
  
The god nodded, waving off the human’s kindness. Really, what was going on with him?  
  
Eventually they reached the wing of the tower that lead to the springs, and Victor stopped. Maybe this was a bad idea. Then again, he had seen Yuuri naked before, and he had been fine, hadn’t he? He frowned. Had he? Even as he recalled the river and the forest and something blue, the memory slipped from his mind like grains of sand through open fingers, and he lost it again.  
  
“Victor, is something wrong?”  
  
Victor looked up, met those warm brown eyes. Yes. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He opened his mouth to say so, closed it again. Reached out to Yuuri, hesitated. What had he been thinking?  
  
And then Yuuri was there beside him, taking his hand and leading him forward. Victor could feel warmth coming from just ahead, and he remembered. They were going to the springs. Yuuri was taking him to the springs.  
  
But it was too warm. The heat in the chamber threatened to suffocate him, and he gasped, throat spasming. Yuuri was going to make him get in? He was going to make him soak in that torturous heat and he was going to burn and burn and burn—  
  
“Victor?”  
  
Victor gasped again, doubling over. The concern in Yuuri’s voice must have been fake. It was all fake. Yuuri just wanted him to burn, he wanted him to—  
  
Something cool and soft was pressed against Victor’s forehead—a hand?—and he cried out, lashing wildly with his arms and legs, trying to escape. He felt his foot connect with something solid, heard a strained _oof_ as Yuuri was knocked over and fell to the ground. Shit. He hadn’t meant to do that.  
  
“It’s okay,” Yuuri sputtered, clutching his stomach with one hand. “Everything is okay, you don’t have to get in.”  
  
Had he voiced his concerns aloud? Victor’s vision went black for a moment, then he slammed back into clarity with a force strong enough to knock the air out of his lungs. Stars above, how badly he was shaking.  
  
Yuuri crawled over to him. “Victor, it’s going to be okay. Let’s go back to the room.” The man bit his lip when the god did not answer. He rocked back to sit on his heels. “Let me help you up, would you mind? M-may I touch you? Please?”  
  
A wave of cold disbelief washed over him. Nobody—not in the entirety of Victor’s life—had ever asked his permission to touch him.  
  
The realization struck him like lightning, and he nodded slowly. Yuuri grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet with a bit of difficulty, as Victor wasn’t being much help. Everything around him seemed strangely distorted.  
  
“I’m sorry, Yuuri.” He said, thankful that his voice seemed normal, at least. “I just got… disoriented for a moment. I’m fine. We don’t have to return to the rooms.”  
  
Yuuri looked at him, and Victor could _feel_ the concern in the human’s expression. To prove his point, Victor pulled his shirt over his head, maintaining eye contact with Yuuri as if to say _see? I’m fine._ He thought the human’s eyes might have widened a bit, but it was hard to tell in the dim light.

Victor walked to one of the steaming pools and pulled his pants down, tossing them to the side and stepping in before Yuuri could convince him to do otherwise. The heat hit him all at once, panic beginning to start again in his core, but he breathed through it. Yuuri was there beside him not a moment later, the water splashing a bit as he settled in. That concern was still there, and it made Victor uncomfortable. He really was so kind. Kinder than Victor deserved.  
  
“I find it hard to believe,” Victor said, “that you think nobody has ever been in love with you.” Yuuri’s gaze left Victor’s to land instead on the water. It was a conversation he clearly did not want to pick back up, but Victor was too curious to let it drop. Not to mention the fact that he could use a distraction from his own emotions right about then.   
“You’re so kind,” Victor pressed. “And your talent—both magical and otherwise?” he shook his head. “You’re amazing, Yuuri.” The human swallowed, and Victor wondered if he was embarrassed. He tried for a teasing tone. “And if that doesn’t impress anybody, your good looks are plenty to fall back on.”  
  
Yuuri stiffened, and finally looked back at Victor. He had taken his glasses off earlier, setting them somewhere on the ground nearby. He said nothing, but his eyes were so, so wide. Victor cleared his throat. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up after all. But he kept going, curiosity getting the better of him. “So what about you, then? Have you ever been in love?”  
  
Yuuri flinched, expression pained, but didn’t look away. “Yes,” he said. His voice was clear, though it was soft. “Yes, I have.”  
  
There was something unwavering in the man’s posture, something so unexpectedly bold in his face and in his voice, that Victor wasn’t sure what to say anymore. He was suddenly very, very aware of the heat of the water where it touched his skin. Very aware of the proximity of Yuuri’s body in that small pool in that large, empty cavern.  
  
Victor cleared his throat, again. “Ah—well,” he sputtered, “whoever has had the pleasure to hold your heart is a—uh, a lucky man.”  
  
“Victor, can I show you something?”  
  
The sudden question took the god off guard, but he shut his mouth and nodded.  
  
“I’ve been practicing,” Yuuri said, shifting in the water to sit on his knees. “I wanted to show you—I wanted to prove—” he looked troubled, like he was frustrated that he couldn’t find the right words. “This is for you. Just watch. Please.”  
  
And he did. He watched as Yuuri lifted both hands to rest them lightly on the surface of the water. He watched as he closed his eyes, brows angled in concentration.  
  
The water began to tremble and splash around them, until all at once several hundred individual drops pulled themselves into the air to hover around their heads. Victor reached up a hand to touch one. It slid down his finger the moment his skin made contact.  
  
The display came with a strange mix of emotions. Pride, first of all, that Yuuri was able to do something like this by practicing on his own. And guilt, that Victor had been seriously neglecting their magic lessons. Lessons that _he_ had proposed in the first place.

Yuuri took a breath, then another. The droplets of water spasmed, sunk a bit lower, then rushed together uniformly only to coalesce into a very small but very accurate depiction of Makkachin. Victor broke into a grin, watching the tiny water poodle run around in circles over their heads, droplets of water splashing from her tail as it wagged back and forth.  
  
“Yuuri,” he cried, “that’s amazing! You did this for me?”   
  
Yuuri’s eyes opened at last, and he nodded.

Little was said after that. It seemed to take a good amount of concentration for Yuuri to maintain the manipulation of the water like that. But Victor was comfortable— _happy_ , almost. Watching Yuuri, he felt lighter than he had in a while. Maybe it was the springs relaxing his muscles, maybe it was the fact that he had been given such a surprising and thoughtful gift. He wasn’t sure how long the two of them stayed in the water, and he didn’t particularly care.

Finally, Makka’s likeness bounded through the air one more time until she froze, turning completely into ice. With one sharp inhalation of breath from Yuuri, the ice exploded above them, to fall down slowly and gently upon their heads as snow.  
  
Victor tipped his head to let the snow fall onto his face, where it melted immediately. “I’m so impressed, Yuuri. Thank you.”

Yuuri beamed, but clutched his head. “I think I may have overdone it, though.”  
  
Victor wanted to reach out, to brush Yuuri’s hair away from his eyes and let his hand rest there, on his cheek. He stood instead, and offered him a hand. “Let’s go back to the room, then.”  
  
The whole walk back, Yuuri leaned on Victor for support. It was a shorter walk than Victor remembered; they reached the room sooner than he would have liked, and he reluctantly let Yuuri pull away.  
  
“I really am glad you’re smiling again,” Yuuri said. “I mean it.”  
  
Victor reached up to touch his own face. Had he been smiling? He hadn’t noticed.  
  
Yuuri turned the knob and pushed the door open. “I’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
Something cold and heavy pulled at Victor’s heart. “Wait!”  
  
Slowly—or perhaps it only felt slow to Victor because adrenaline was pumping through him so fast he thought he might faint—Yuuri turned back around.  
  
Victor clasped his hands firmly behind his back, afraid he would touch Yuuri if he let himself. He meant to say goodnight, but that didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem like enough. He racked his brain for the right words, but they wouldn’t come. What came out instead was much worse: “Every time I look at you I feel like I’m dying.”  
  
Yuuri looked horrified. “What?” he exclaimed, cheeks heating.  
  
Victor bit his lip. He hadn’t really meant to say that, but the words were out now, and they kept coming.  
  
“It’s just,” Victor squeezed his hands together behind his back. Damn, but he wanted to touch Yuuri’s face. “I don’t know. Every time I see you, it’s like—”   
  
These words, just like his feelings—they couldn’t be real. And yet they kept coming. It was like they had been building up inside him for months and he hadn’t even noticed. But now that he started, he couldn’t stop. The dam had burst, and it was all Victor could do to hold still as he spoke. Belatedly, he realized his hands were shaking.  
  
“It’s like you take a piece of me every time I look at you. Every time you—when you smile like that, I—” He sucked in a breath, realizing that, for a moment, he had forgotten to breathe. “Something of me is left behind in you, every time.” He frowned at Yuuri’s expression. “I’m not really sure—I don’t know—”  
  
“Victor, I—” Yuuri shook his head, staring at him with a guarded look that was so unlike him. Victor wanted to curse himself. What in the roiling, _eternal_ hell was he saying?  
  
Victor forced out a strained laugh. He knew he should have stopped talking then, but he continued. “I’m supposed to be immortal.” he shook his head, “I don’t know, Yuuri. You’ve got—you’ve got pieces of me. I don’t—I’m not really sure what I’m trying to say but…” he trailed off. There was a look in Yuuri’s eyes he did not understand, and it terrified him.  
  
He took one step back, another. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired. I should go to bed.”  
  
And with that, he shut the door in Yuuri’s face.  


 

* * *

  
  
  
Yuuri leaned on the wall with hand over his heart, over his hammering, insistent pulse. There was no chance of his heartbeat calming any time soon—if he were being honest, he thought it might never be calm again.  
  
What Victor had said… it was similar to what he had been thinking earlier. Could it be—was it possible that Victor felt the same way he did?  
  
No, that couldn’t be it. It was _physically_ impossible, wasn’t it?

_Wasn't it?_  
  
Gods, he didn’t know what to do. He needed to talk to Victor, didn’t he? Shouldn’t they work this whole thing out? Or should he wait until the curse was lifted to sort through his emotions? The latter seemed like the smartest thing to do, but…  
  
Chewing on his bottom lip, he opened the door. Victor was still there, hand raised in a fist as if he were about to knock.  
  
They stared at each other for a second, Victor’s eyes full of some obvious battle. Yuuri stepped forward.  
  
And suddenly they were kissing. He wasn’t sure who had leaned in first—he didn’t care. He was so aware of Victor’s hands, one of which rested on the nape of his neck to pull his face closer, the other spread wide across his lower back, fingers digging in slightly, as if he were afraid Yuuri might disappear if he did not hold him tight enough.  
  
Yuuri broke the kiss first, when he noticed how Victor’s hands were trembling. He pulled back, just enough to see that the god’s eyes were wide—astonished. Without allowing himself a second to think it through, Yuuri gently took his hand and led him into the bedroom, keeping his gaze firmly locked on Victor’s, assessing his expression.  
  
Now, fully beyond the doorway, some sort of understanding passed between them, and Victor shut the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I just wanted to say that I'm never going to abandon this fic, I promise!
> 
> Second, I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT. There was a death in my family and I honestly haven't done much of anything for the last couple months. But I'm recovering, so the chapters should start coming again :)
> 
> Third, thank you so much for sticking with me after such a long absence!! Hopefully it won't happen again but you know. Life. Still, I'll try not to let you guys down ( •̀ᄇ• ́)ﻭ✧ 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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